Counterfeit
by Caisele
Summary: Like any other Dramione story but with more LOVE, more SEX and a little twist of the IMPOSSIBLE. You know you wanna. Rated for some sexual content.
1. Prologue

**COUNTERFEIT**

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**Prologue**

A queer rumor it was, circulating amongst the circles of the masked ones. It was concerning their Master – the feared one. No one knew where the rumor rooted from, but it was known that it spread like wildfire after the murder of the traitor named Karkaroff. No one dared to inquire into the matter, for it was a matter of the Master, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. It was said that the matter involved a lowly masked one, named Wormtail. And it was also said that the matter involved a mysterious, nameless character whom none of the masked ones had ever met. And that was what made the rumor queer, for it was whispered by shaking hushed voices in the secret meetings of the masked ones that their Master has gained an _apprentice_...

But the rumor was short-lived. In the summer of the third year after the rumor had been forgotten, two faithful (or so themselves believed) masked ones (both named Lestrange) hiked the mountains to reach the resting place of their Master. Their hands trembled and their footfalls were silent as they approached the old house in Little Hangleton. They had brought along with them the son of another masked one, a prominent and influential masked one named Malfoy. The son, also called Malfoy, was brought to be heard by the Master concerning things that had gone wrong months before in Hogwarts.

The Master accused the young Malfoy of cowardliness, but was inclined to allow him a second chance because of his father. But the Master was still doubtful of young Malfoy's abilities. At that time and place, there in the old house in Little Hangleton, the rumor from three years before was revived once again – Master called from the deep shadows of the room a _nameless boy_. His face was melted away, and blisters covered almost every inch of what little skin was exposed. The Lestranges leapt back in fright, and the young Malfoy fainted.

---

_My master was a man of foresight:  
he knew I would come in useful the moment he found me.  
He gave me lessons.  
I served my purpose helping him locate his scattered unfaithfuls  
and he eventually let me deliver the punishments.  
I never helped him in the recovery of his body, or the war.  
He returned to me the gift of life, yet I hate him,  
because he stripped me of the only thing I had left – my freedom.  
He didn't know of my memory recovery.  
It was my jealous secret, my advantage over him,  
and I guarded it with pride, however much the memories hurt me.  
I found refuge in my studies.  
I lost myself in spell books and in perfecting the enormous power I am gifted with. _

---

"Take this one," the Master instructed his apprentice, motioning at the limp form of the young Malfoy, "and place him in the _other room_."

The apprentice bowed wordlessly and did as he was told. The two quivering Lestranges were sent to wait outside. They waited, clutching their hearts, still pounding from their fright. They waited for a total of three days. In those days, as they took shelter in the old house's stable, they pieced the many pieces of the puzzle together. The rumor involved Wormtail, who was promoted and rewarded for a great deed – now the Lestranges know that the deed was the find of that boy apprentice. Karkaroff's death was supposed to be a punishment carried out by orders of the Master, as he himself was still too weak to do so himself. But at the secret meetings where the masked ones gathered, it was found that no masked one was trusted with the task. And so the rumor said the punishment was delivered by an outsider – now the Lestranges know that this outsider was this boy apprentice. But where Wormtail had found this boy was as much of a mystery as the boy himself.

In the wee hours of morning on the third day, the old house looked the same – as dark and intimidating as ever. But inside its closed doors, an impossible change had been achieved.

In the wee hours of morning on the third day, the Lestranges were called to bury a strange, covered body. When they returned to the stable where they were sheltered, they found the young Malfoy waiting for them with a thick, sealed envelope in his hands from the Master to his father.

Malfoy Sr. was the first one to greet his son upon his return, and the only one to read the letter inside the thick, sealed envelope. His voice shook as he announced to his wife and extended family that the Master had took away all of his dear son's memories in fear of another failure. But he knew the _truth_. He knew that on the third day that the Lestranges had waited, a boy woke on the wet floor of the _other room_ inside the old house in Little Hangleton and stared at his reflection in shock.

---

_I woke up in a dungeon, lying in a puddle of cool, soothing water.  
I remember slowly propping myself onto my elbows  
and glancing down into my reflection in the puddle,  
and instead of the wax-like mess that was my face, I had defined features.  
My shoulders were rid of the ugly sores the oil had left.  
My skin was pale, perfect and unblemished.  
I had a nose, eyelids, mouth, ears and silvery blonde hair.  
This was how I became Draco Malfoy. _

---

The Master was seated in the corner of the room when he said, "The transaction is permanent. I give you his eminent name, his immaculate body, his loving family, his place in Hogwarts, and most importantly – his mission...to kill Albus Dumbledore."

---

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**A/N:**

I finally updated!! And I revamped the story's format while I was at it. Thanks be to Gyss - whose been supporting me and this story from the beginning to the (eventual) end.

So you must review and read on. Thank you!

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	2. I

**COUNTERFEIT **

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**I**

**--- **

It was late. There was a delay in at Platform Nine and Three Quarters and the train left the station more than an hour later than usual. The students were hungry and tired, all resting or quietly chatting inside their own compartments as the Hogwarts Express sped past empty moors.

There was only one person out of her compartment. She shouldered a lumpy and seemingly heavy bag. Her two best friends had a spat the day before, in Diagon Alley – something about a broomstick.

You know how it is with boys and their toys.

Of course, with the two thickos not talking to each other, this poor, aforementioned girl has to run between them, relaying messages and whatnot, trying to patch up the rip in their relationship. It didn't help that the boys childishly decided that it would benefit them to each have their own compartment – on the opposite ends of the train. And _that_ is exactly why our lovely, unnamed heroine is trotting the empty train aisle at this ungodly hour.

Now, frustrated and tired, Hermione fought against the motion of the train, moving in the opposite direction she's headed, tugging on the strap of her bag. The bag must not have been a good made, judging by the style, fabric and color. It's not wizard made – that's for sure. And that's probably why the bag strap couldn't handle both the weight of the objects our still nameless heroine placed inside _and_ the tension she put on it by all that tugging.

The strap snapped and the bag fell with a loud thump, onto the carpeted floor, its contents (which are quills, parchment rolls and bottles of ink, by the way) rolled down the aisle.

The sound of its fall crept through the nearby compartment doors, and the occupants in all but one of these nearby compartments ignored the sound. The only person who developed the slightest interest in the source of the sound was none other than our young hero.

Coincidence?

I think not.

Draco Malfoy looked up from his copy of the _Daily Prophet_, saw that his fellow compartment occupants – the vain pretty boy and the two gorillas – were asleep, and peeked out into the train aisle through the crack of his ajar compartment door.

Outside, the girl groaned, and got down to her knees, and began picking up the fallen quills, parchment rolls and inkbottles one by one.

He did a double take, and recognition lit up his eyes.

_Oh, God_. He thought, staring at her in disbelief.

Yup.

He knew who she was.

He had spent the past month in two places – jogging for hours and hours at a time around the Malfoy Estate in Wiltshire and swimming in the expensive, crystal Pensieve belonging to the previous owner of his body, where Narcissica Malfoy had dumped many of her son's discarded memories in an desperate attempt to break the memory charm.

Amongst the shimmering strands of memories, which the late Draco Malfoy had left in his mother's possession, the new Draco had found a couple particularly interesting. One of them was where this bushy haired girl (now kneeling outside his compartment door) had slapped him in the face.

Draco indulged himself in this memory many times, pacing around this girl, watching her face as she struck him. He had been denied of the privilege of contact with the opposite sex for three years, and he found her passion and hatred for him…alluring, as there is no other word for it. He found it especially so after one certain memory of a certain Yule Ball, where this very girl had walked into the Great Hall shining like a beacon with beauty and grace.

For some strange and unknown reason, the last owner of the Pensieve had removed from his mind almost every single memory that had anything at all to do with this girl, and the new Draco went through them all – one after another. In the observance of these memories, Draco had gained a very intriguing piece of knowledge: the rabbit teethed, bookwormish girl had finally grown out of her exceptionally awkward stages of her adolescence and is now a woman, a beautiful, captivating and complex woman – the last Draco may not have noticed it, but _this_ one did.

Now, Draco didn't really know her personally. He only came in contact with her through the discarded memories in the Pensieve – which were slightly biased. But there were many a nights where he awoke burning and blushing, having just dreamt of her in a humiliating and almost upsetting way for reasons even he didn't know. It's like one of those fantasies we have of rock gods or busty songstresses – people who are too appealing to be real, people who are too far beyond our reach, and all we can do is dream about them.

The only logical explanation I can give for Draco's _feelings_ for the girl is that something about her probably caught his attention, and if I had to guess what that 'something about her' is I would say it's probably the polar difference between this bookworm and all the other young women the memories in the Pensieve held. If our hero didn't go through his three years of bitter isolation from the corruption of the modern world, and was shown these memories, he would have lusted after one of the more classy and sexy girls from the memories. But he _did_ go through three years of bitter isolation from the corruption of the modern world, and it changed his view on a lot of things. He re-entered our society with new values and beliefs. He saw everything with new eyes.

To make matters more problematical, Draco had realized that the young man who's Pensieve he had been living in for the past month, had unconsciously uglified (if that is a word) the girl in his memories according to his (very, very prejudice) perception of her. In reality, she was a lot prettier than in the memories.

The previous owner of the Pensieve may have used it as a mean to sort through and compartmentalize his thoughts and feelings, but its new owner used it as a mean to be in the presence of a particular female individual.

Now a possibility was occurring to Draco, a very risky and challenging possibility. Secretly being a fan of impossible romances in the likes such as Romeo and Juliet, Draco enjoyed and welcomed the risks and challenges. To him, she, the girl he's been sweating about all this past month, was no longer outside of his reach. He'd love to just reach out and grab hold of her slender hand, to caress her mouth with his, and to perform numerous…ahem…sinful acts.

Draco felt his stomach tighten.

He quietly relocated the copy of the _Daily Prophet_, stood up and stepped outside. Carefully sliding the compartment door close behind him, Draco stood there staring at her – the once awkward looking, buck teethed and bushy haired girl who he had just realized he's falling for.

He bent down, picked up a roll of parchment that had rolled near his feet and slowly sauntered over to her. Lucky for him, he managed to remember her name, only because he thought it was very fitting for her: it was the name of the daughter of Helen, who was the most beautiful mortal in the world, according to Greek mythology.

Hermione.

Draco thought the name fit her even more so now, as he walked towards her, staring, measuring, observing, and (obscenely) undressing her in his mind…

Hermione (who at the moment was busy and unaware of a former enemy standing just a few feet away or of his sexual fantasies of her) was reaching for a stray quill when a pair of dragon skin boots sauntered into her sight. Before Hermione registered what she was seeing, a pale hand swooped down and picked up the quill she had been reaching for and handed it to her.

"Thank you," Hermione said instinctively, reaching for her quill. Then she looked up.

And froze.

_Malfoy_.

Hermione stood up so quick an inkbottle fell from the folds of her arms and smashed into bits on the ground. She ignored it. "What do you want, Malfoy?" she demanded, resentment and disgust etched in every syllable. To her absolute surprise and horror, he smiled. "I don't _want_ anything," he replied. He lied, of course. He wanted to drop the parchment roll, forget the stupid quill, sweep her into his arms and kiss her till they go blue from the lack of oxygen.

"You, however," he continued, "would want this quill, and this roll of parchment that you dropped," he held the items out to her, no longer smiling but staring intently at her, his stomach doing back flips as he watched her.

Hermione took a step back. The ardour in his eyes frightened her. He watched her weigh the decisions – turn and run away or accept her quill and parchment roll? Finally she took a deep breath and stuck out a free arm. He swallowed, watching her bite her lip, and deposited her things onto her arm. He then reached inside his cloak and pulled out his wand. Before Hermione could react he had already uttered a spell.

"_Reparo_," he said, and the shattered inkbottle flew together, the ebony ink safely cased inside. He bent down, picked up the bottle, took a step forward and placed it amidst the other objects in her arm. Then, instinctively, his outreached hand, as if on its own accord, moved up a few inches and brushed back a lone tress of Hermione's curls, lightly grazing her jaw in progression.

Hermione froze.

What.

Was.

That?

"Sorry," Draco muttered, catching himself. Pulling back his hand as though electrified. His groin was burning. He wanted nothing more than to rip off her skirt, place himself between her thighs and ease the burn with one smooth stroke.

He smiled at her instead – obviously the more sensible thing to do – turned around and walked away, leaving her standing there, angry and confused. Hermione wasn't exactly sure what had just transpired here, but she knew that if it weren't for the parchment rolls, inkbottles and quills in her arms she would have slapped him.

So…saved from a slap by parchment rolls, inkbottles and quills, Draco returned to his compartment. As he slid open the door he felt a wave of delirium sweep over him. What he did – just now – was way too risky for comfort. Someone could have walked in on them…him, and then there would have been big trouble – for him at least.

"Where'd you go?" Blaise Zabini (formerly known as the vain pretty boy) was awake.

"Washroom," Draco replied. Blaise nodded, buying Draco's lie.

"Well, an owl came just now with a note…from Professor Snape," Blaise said, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment from his cloak pockets. "You've been summoned to his office. He wants to talk to you as soon as we arrive at Hogwarts."

Warning bells rang in Draco's head. He accepted the note with a raised eyebrow. Already he knew he wasn't going to that dreary dungeon anytime soon.

See, from what Draco came across in the Pensieve, he found out just about everything that had to do with his predecessor's relationship with this cunning, oily man. The past relationship resembled that of which a mentor and a favoured pupil may have. But as Draco went through the memories one by one, he had found the 'beloved mentor', 'respected professor, and 'honoured guru' to be a bit on the furtive side. As opposed to the previous Draco, this one disliked the man the moment he laid eyes on him.

Actually, looking back, the last two memories of Snape the now deceased Draco Malfoy the First had left behind were quite unpleasant. Draco Malfoy the Second had like to think that the first Draco's mission failed because of this Snape man's tampering (which is awfully close to truth, I might add. I might add something _else_ here if I had the time, but I think I've wasted enough of yours already with these constant side notes, therefore, I shall proceed with the story…).

---

Later that evening, Draco sat in the Great Hall with his Housemates, watching the Sorting Ceremony with very little interest. He had been the first to get off the train, but the last to arrive at Hogwarts grounds. He walked quickly behind his pair of pet gorillas named Crabbe and Goyle, and had quickly dropped down onto the marble floor to…ahem…tie his shoelaces upon recognizing Severus Snape's oily head (again, via the Pensieve).

At the beginning of the feast, Draco had pretended to not see the fifty different signals the Potions Master had given him, trying to get him to leave the Great Hall. Draco later decided it would be better if he avoided looking to the High Table where the man he was trying to evade sat. A good decision, obviously.

His gaze flickered toward the Gryffindor table. Quickly scanning the table he was surprised to see that the very object of his (very strange and unusual) affection was throwing him a burning glare of pure hatred. He met her gaze and smiled. She held his gaze and scowled. Throughout the whole Sorting Ceremony they sat there staring at each other, blinking only when someone stood up to clap or cheer.

Childish you may think, at least that's what I thought. Shameless, the way they flirt…by having a staring contest. Well if I have to elaborate, I must say, it was an exciting event…for them, at least. It would be quite boring to watch two people stare at each other, but just in case you wanted to know – Draco lost. Near the end of the Sorting, the Potions Master had Crabbe prod Draco to get his attention (thus breaking his eye contact with Hermione) and beckoned him to step outside. There was no more running away now. Draco excused himself from his companions, picked up his heavy cloak and walked out of the Great Hall. He didn't have to wait long. The Potions Master appeared seconds later. He looked quite angry.

"You wanted to see me, Professor?" Draco asked as nonchalant as possible, trying hard to sound like the predecessor of his body.

"Drop the act, Draco," Severus Snape hissed. He grabbed the boy's elbow and began steering him away from the Great Hall entrance. Draco scowled and wrenched himself free from the man's grip.

"We can talk here, Professor," Draco sniffed, slightly annoyed. Snape glowered at his young charge but nodded. "Did you want something, Professor?" The boy then asked.

"Draco," Snape began, then paused to gather his thoughts. "Draco…I want to know exactly what you are up to, what happened when Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange took you to _him_, and precisely _how the bloody hell_ did you managed to still be alive."

Draco raised one fair eyebrow. "Uh…don't know, can't remember and no idea," he replied, and then smiled brightly at the man standing in front of him.

Snape fell silent. He stared at the boy. The boy stared back.

"What is he making to do this time?" Snape asked solemnly.

"Who?" Draco answered, sounding very cheery.

Snape didn't reply right away – he was too enraged to talk. For a second it seemed as if he was going to yell, then he half lifted his left hand like he was going to strike the boy, but eventually he settled for gritting his teeth.

"_The Dark Lord_," he finally spat, his fists clenched.

"Oh…_him_…" Draco laughed, feigning complete ignorance to the Potions Master's vehemence. "What did you want to know about him again?"

As you can possibly imagine, livid is an understatement for what Snape was feeling now. He was almost emitting waves of heated anger. He was shaking from head to toe.

He didn't answer. He just snarled through his gritted teeth. "Draco, I'm warning you…it's not worth putting your life on the line for something that doesn't concern you."

"What do_ you_ know?" Draco scowled, suddenly serious. "I would think _I_'d know more about how much something concerns _me_, wouldn't I?"

"Draco–"

"I'm tired," Draco abruptly announced, turning away. "I'm going to bed." Swiftly (and without any trace of fatigue), Draco walked away and up the giant swirling marble staircase. "Oh, and if you're _really_ concerned about me, Professor, you might want to help me along by getting me the password to the Headmaster's office." The boy threw laughingly over his shoulder as he disappeared out of sight, leaving a very cross Potions Master glaring after him.

---

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**A/N: **

Please Review.

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	3. II

**COUNTERFEIT  
**

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**II  
**

In bed as he promised that night, Draco tossed and turned. For three years he had been deprived of everything he had and was robbed the ability to get it back. Now here he sleeps, with a stolen name, in a stolen body, filling in the stolen position as a student in Hogwarts. So what if the body and identity he's been walking around in isn't really his? He's got back everything he's lost.

You'd think he'd be happy. But no, of all the girls in the school who would trample on each other to share his bed, he chooses the one girl who would not only be revolted by the very idea, but would rather be drawn and quartered and die as a martyr than to do such a thing. In fact, Hermione finds the concept of looking at him without a glare appalling.

_Smart_ boy, Draco.

He lay there, cursing at himself for not being able to stop thinking about her, hating the fact that he was almost hyperventilating from anticipating having Transfiguration with her tomorrow, and urging his hands to stay by his side instead of wanking himself silly. He sighed and closed his eyes. It's no use. Maybe he'd stop thinking about her if he…uh…relaxed the tightened muscle that is his groin. But then again, it was because of him thinking about her that his groin 'tightened' in the first place.

Let me explain, wanking to Draco is like books to Hermione – addictive. Horrible, I know. He developed the habit when he first attained his body. The body's natural biological inclination to an erection plus Draco's three years of sexual frustration equals a lot of urges. The kind of urges that kept him awake for the first two nights after the transaction into his new body, wanking away.

I mean…he's done it before. He had started to touch himself as early as nine. You girls out there might be a little shocked, but believe it or not, he actually started a little later than most boys. The thing is, his previous body didn't…stiffen up as much. Medically speaking, it's probably because the pituitary gland in this body produces a lot more hormones. So he didn't have to do it as much before, but now, especially since his contact with Hermione Granger through the Pensieve, he had been…ahem, perfecting this…art of masturbation every night for the last month.

I regret to have to inform you of this, but it's becoming quite a bit of a habit – very, very hard to quit. And I must say, he's not really making that much of an effort, because the next morning, he awoke to find himself pants-less and exhausted.

He took a bath (taking care to wash his hands properly), got dressed and went downstairs. On the way to the Great Hall, rumour-mill generators – Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil – spotted him. They took one look at him and started squeaking in delight. Their reaction isn't much of a surprise. The year before, they had conducted a secret poll where all the girls in Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff rated the most _fanci_able and _shag_able guys in the school. Surprisingly (to me, at least), Draco ranked second, right after Harry. Guess the jerky, arrogant, bad boy personality appealed to the female mass. It isn't really a new concept. You don't even have to good-looking as long as you have a 'bad' reputation, but it helped that Draco was both…actually, it helped a lot. I am sorry to report that last year, after the poll results were posted, several girls had come to create a little 'club' with a name that was too long and inappropriate for me to write. I just call it the "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy Lovers Anonymous".

The basic idea of the 'club' when it was first created was for its members to anonymously share their feeling and fantasies of two certain young men, but later, when ex-Dumbledore's Army members introduced 'The Coin' (you know, those gold galleons the Dumbledore's Army originally used to instant message each other) as a communication tool, the club became more of a "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy Stalkers Anonymous". They began stalking the boys all around school and reported stupid and unimportant little things such as what they were wearing, whom they've talked to and even which side of the Charms classroom door they had touched. They conveyed this information by using 'The Coin' which they were _all _equipped with.

So, it didn't take long before every "Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy Stalkers Anonymous" member (or Coin-holders, as I like to call them) was notified that Draco Malfoy looked especially sexy this morning, with his short-ish, dense hair unintentionally artfully messed – the kind of messiness rock bands nowadays try to imitate. Draco pulled it off quite well, seeing the number of eyes, male and female alike, which were drawn to him that morning.

So I guess my point is, he looked so tired and ruffled it was _hot_.

And I'm not the only one who thought so. Hermione did too, though she would never admit it. She saw him in Transfiguration that morning and traced her jaw where he had touched her the day before. Her sudden desires scared her. She dismissed it as a result of Ginny Weasley's constant rambling about how fanciable he was.

Hermione propped her elbows onto her desk and lowered her chin into her left hand, staring at the mass of white hair sitting a few rows in front of her. She decided that to really get over he silly little _fancy_ (if you can even call it that) of Draco Malfoy she needed to remind herself of how absolutely nasty and hideous he is. Absentmindedly, she drew a chart, labelling the two categories _Good_ and _Bad_.

She looked back up at the back of his platinum head. He definitely wasn't bad looking…and he's tall. Tall is good. She likes tall. He…plays Quidditch – which means he should be quite athletic. He did kind of buy his way into the team though…but he did okay in the matches. Slytherin hardly ever caught the snitch when playing Gryffindor, but that's because Harry's a Quidditch _prodigy_…Slytherin always beats Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff…so Draco must have _some_ talent…hmm…okay. Hermione listed the good points under the _Good _column and moved on.

Now…the bad stuff…there really should be quite a lot under _this_ category. First of all, he's a total arrogant prick. Second of all, he's a pureblood – but that's not really his fault, you really can't choose the family you're born into, so scratch that. Okay, so, second of all…uh…um…Hermione frowned, there must be something else other than that he's a total prick.

Ah! On the train he…uh…helped her pick up her parchments and quill? No, that's not right…he's ugly! Ha, that's it! Wait…nope. She had just put him down as good-looking…ah…hmm…oh! He's ugly personality-wise. There! But, wait…that's the same thing as being a prick. Ugh.

Hermione stared at her chart for a second. The fact that he had helped her pick up her fallen items on the train goes under the good column. So, he's…_nice_? But he can't be if she had just put him down for being a prick.

_This is hopeless!_ Hermione sighed. Her eyes drifted away from the chart on the parchment and onto the next table, where Ron sat.

Hermione's head snapped up. What was she doing? She furiously scratched out her chart and crumpled the parchment into a ball. She was listing the good qualities of Draco Malfoy! How could she? He's the hated enemy, sworn adversary and Death Eater to be…_or_ is he already a Death Eater? She was actually _considering_ him.

Bad girl! Bad, _bad_, girl!

Very bad, indeed!

Shame on you, Hermione, shame on you…

"Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall's shrill voice sliced through Hermione's thoughts. "Concentrate on the lesson, please. You'll be needing to copy this note to do your homework tonight."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione muttered, her face burning. Never, in all her past six year in Hogwarts had she needed a teacher to remind her to pay attention to class or to copy down a note. Do you understand this kind of humiliation? Her perfect record is broken! Never had this happened to her. Hermione looked down onto her ripped parchment, utterly mortified. She could feel all her classmate's eyes on her, mocking her. She looked up through the tangle of curls that fell in front of her face at the blob of white hair in front of her. She cursed him. It was entirely _his_ fault.

Draco, however, was perfectly undisturbed. He had a wonderful, if not tiring, morning, and sat with all his green and silver clad mates at their usual spot along the Slytherin table. His object of affection seemed to be avoiding him ever since Transfiguration today. Why, it appears that she had even skipped lunch to prevent being in his presence. Therefore, Draco had a perfectly trouble-free morning.

His afternoon went quite well also. His first Advanced Potions assignment was returned and he was pleased to see that he had received a perfect grade. Also, on the back of his assignment Professor Snape had scribbled a note, instructing Draco to meet him near the Quidditch pitch at eight this very night. Draco assumed the set up has something to do with his request of the password to the Headmaster's office. It was good to know that Snape was coming round at last.

To make his afternoon even better, while running an errand for Professor Sinistra during his last class of the day, Draco spotted Hermione racing down the giant swirling staircase to the Charms classroom. Unable to resist, Draco hid behind a thick column in the lobby and waited for the Head Girl to whip around the corner. When she did, he pointed his wand to the marble ground her foot had landed on and muttered a quick spell. The marble beneath her one foot melted away. She yelped in surprise as her foot sank into the wet cement-like ground.

Grinning broadly, Draco gracefully stepped out from behind his column. He leant on it for some time, and watched her struggle as she tried to yank her foot out of the now solid marble, oblivious to his being there. His eyes hovered to Hermione's heavily robed body. Her moans making sinful, dirty images pop up in his mind. He blushed.

Finally, he couldn't take to hear her frustrated grumble anymore.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" He exclaimed, as if he had just stumbled upon the situation.

Hermione jumped at the sound of his voice. Her eyes narrowed as she saw him.

"How long have you been standing there?" She asked quietly, a sure sign of her anger.

Draco smiled. "Why, I've just arrived." He told her with an air of surprise. "I heard you from down the hall. You'll injure yourself if you keep pulling at your leg like that, you know." He said matter-of-factly.

"I'm _stuck_," Hermione spat, not buying his lies at all, "can't you see that, or is your head held too high to notice the goings-on on the ground?"

"Oh, are you really?" Draco gasped mockingly, ignoring her second comment, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea. Do you need any help?"

"No, I'm fine on my own, thank you very much," Hermione retorted sarcastically with a forced grin.

"Well, in that case, I'd better be on my way," Draco smiled, and happily waved her goodbye.

"No!" Hermione burst out, grabbing his sleeve. "I know you did this, Malfoy. You better let me go, _or else_!"

Draco turned to face her, his expression serious. "I'm sorry, but _you_'re one holding onto _me_ right now. So, _you_'d better let _me_ go, _or else_!"

Hermione sighed, let go of his sleeve and stood as tall as she could with one foot stuck inside solid marble. "I, as Head Girl, demand that you undo this…spell, or it'll be twenty, no, fifty points from Slytherin."

Draco raised an eyebrow and grinned at her. "My dear Head Girl, if you knew anything about me at all, you would know that this pathetic little custom you call House points mean nothing to me, and it will mean even less when I graduate in ten months." He paused, grinning wider at the look of horror on her face, "Good day, Miss Granger." He turned his back and began walking away, quietly counting in his head…

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One…

"_WAIT_!" Hermione's call rang clearly down the hall. Draco smiled. "Just as I thought," he muttered as he turned around once again to face her. "Yes?"

"What do you want?"

Draco was genuinely surprised to see the tears welling up in her eyes. His stomach flipped and guilt clung to him with a death grip. He swallowed, "A…a reward for my trouble, perhaps?"

"What _kind_ of reward?" Hermione asked, suspicion written all over her face.

Draco smiled nicely as he walked back toward her, "How 'bout…a kiss?"

Hermione flushed deep scarlet at this outrageous request. "_In your dreams_, _Malfoy_!" She yelled at him, disgusted and embarrassed.

Draco gasped, faking hurt. "Well…if you really feel that way." He shrugged, hung his head slightly and slowly walked away. Inwardly he was laughing, but as he ascended the staircase he peeked over the banister down at her, still struggling, getting more and more colourful with her vocabulary by the second.

This little encounter didn't make him feel less aroused by her. It didn't make him feel better about himself. It did, however, make him feel more attracted to her. It gave him the longing of protecting her. He wanted to yell sorry, he wanted to go down there and hold her till she felt better, he wanted to fall upon his hands and knees and beg for her forgiveness…

He sighed. Good guys aren't meant to do bad things. He pulled out his wand, pointed down to her, whispered a charm, and after seeing that she had been safely released by the floor, he slowly trekked back to class, feeling upset and confused.

---

That evening, well after dinner in the Great Hall, Draco put on his cloak, side stepped Blaise, told his gorillas off, snuck past Pansy and set out for his meeting with Professor Snape.

The Quidditch pitch was located to the front left side of the school. Getting there from the Slytherin dungeons meant that Draco had to pass by the Gryffindor tower, which also means…complications.

He could have just walked past. He could have. He didn't even have to look at the portrait of the Fat Lady, guarding the Gryffindor dorms. He could have…but he didn't.

Draco paused at the portrait. The Fat Lady looked up at him. "Can I help you?" she asked pointedly and rather rudely – after all, he _was_ a Slytherin. Draco ignored her. He stood in front of the portrait, contemplating the possibilities. Every brain cell in his head was screaming for him to slowly back away from the portrait and continue on with his business. It was too bad, however, that Draco didn't choose to use his brain in this particular situation.

He retreated around a corner, out of the radius of the Fat Lady's glare. He took two deep breaths and then propped his back against the cold wall, trying to think straight. He could enter the Tower. It was easy. A little spell here and a small charm there and he's in…then he could see _her_. There were three problems with this possibility though: one – he's definitely _not_ supposed to do that; two – those little spells and charms are what are classified as Dark Magic, he's not supposed to _know_ how to do those; and three – he doubts the pretty Head Girl will be even slightest delighted to see him.

Of course, there is the second possibility: he would walk away right now. The only problem with this possibility was that he doesn't like it. Not one bit. But, if he had any self-control, he would make the second possibility a reality.

So, being the _god_ of self-control that he is, Draco chose the first possibility. He performed a little spell here and a small charm there, then walked up to the Fat Lady's portrait (unseen), lifted it from its hinges and entered the Gryffindor Tower.

Once inside, the loud yelling that was his angry diminutive conscience scoffing him for being a stupid dolt had faded._ He was free to do whatever the hell he wished_.

A smug grin spread across Draco's features as he ascended the tight spiral stairs to the Head Girl's dorm. His heart was hammering so hard that I wouldn't be surprised if his rib cage collapsed.

As he reached the door to her room, he was sweating and restless. He had long lost the smug grin somewhere along the way up the staircase.

He held his breath as he tried the doorknob.

It was_ unlocked_.

Draco's hands shook as he quietly opened the door. The room was empty. Draco let out his breath, relieved that his respiratory system had decided to function again. Now, slowly, a small smile settled on his face as an idea occurred to him, a brilliantly horrible idea.

Draco closed the door behind him…

---

Hermione reached up for the shampoo. Pink, scented suds and multicoloured, transparent bubbles slid down her bare arm. Her wet hair trailed into the porcelain bathtub, brushing her shoulders and covering her back.

A bubble bath – just what a girl needed after a taxing day. Hermione cringed as the events of the day flooded through her mind…

Professor McGonagall's reminder for her to pay attention in class was nothing compared to her mortification when Ron asked her why she had been staring at Draco Malfoy. She didn't think he had noticed, but apparently, he did, and he didn't like what he saw.

"You were practically drooling!" Ron had told her not too quietly. Both Harry and Ginny had turned to stare at her, eyebrows raised.

"I was not!" Hermione had retorted. Her face had burned much more brightly than it did now, as she sat in her bathtub, remembering. Ron and her had bickered all the way to the entrance to the dungeons. The quarrel had bothered Hermione so much that she forgot to read the grading on her Advanced Potions essay until she walked into the Great Hall for lunch.

Snape had failed her.

Hermione had stared at the vile comments on her essay, aghast. She was so angry and preoccupied that she missed witnessing Pansy Parkinson place a very suspicious chocolate cupcake on her table. Depressed and not thinking straight, Hermione ate cupcake…as comfort food…and ended up having great gooey clumps of mud leak out of her nose, mouth and ears for the next two hours, making her miss lunch, Ancient Runes and History of Magic.

When Madam Pomfrey had finally countered the effects of Pansy's cupcake, Hermione had just enough time to get to Charms…until Draco Malfoy had come along and made her foot sink into the marble floor. Hermione was twenty minutes late for Charms – an atrocious experience for her.

She had retired to her room before dinner in tears. Ginny had stopped by and apologized for Ron's behaviour, making Hermione feel a slight bit better, and that was when she decided to take a bubble bath to calm her nerves and to think things through. Hermione had been in the bathtub for almost two hours now and no solution came to mind. She sighed and decided to rinse off and go to bed early. Maybe some extra sleep might help.

After a quick shower, Hermione stretched and eased herself out of the tub, yawning. She wrapped herself in her favourite towel and flung her wet curls out of her face. She opened the bathroom door.

There, on her bed, in all its repulsiveness, was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione's jaw dropped.

_Un_believable.

Just when you think a day couldn't get any worse.

She freaked.

"JUST _WHAT _THE BLOODY HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE_ DOING_?" Hermione screeched as she stomped over to the side of her bed, glowering down at the surprised boy.

Draco shrugged and a very amused expression settled on his face. "Looking through your stuff?" He suggested, motioning at the items lying on her bed, including her school clothes, her skirts, her knickers, her _bras_ and…oh, look! Her _diary_'s there too! How _delightful_!

Not.

Hermione stood there at a loss of words, not believing the absolute horror he had unleashed onto her. "Oh, and, by the way, I wanted to ask you…" Draco trailed off sitting up, looking for something. She watched helplessly as he picked up a pair of lacy, blue knickers, "…how do you fit into these?" he inquired cutely.

"GET. OUT. OF. MY. _ROOM_!" Hermione screamed, shaking with anger and blinded by the oncoming tears.

For the second time in one day Draco watched as tears swelled up in those beautiful chocolate eyes. To him, her standing there, wrapped in her towel and shrieking at him was the most beautiful thing in the world. Her face shone and her curly tresses bounced as she trembled in fury. Her smooth, ivory skin glowed so warm in the fading evening light, and her lips…naturally scarlet and full. His groin lit on fire again. But there was something different about her now, Draco could feel it. Something was not right. He didn't need to see the tears to know it. She's in an unusually vile mood.

Draco immediately leapt up from the soft bed. He stood facing her, brow creased with concern. She glared straight into his eyes. If looks really could kill, Draco would have been long gone. An easy smile formed on Draco's lips. He slowly and cautiously placed one hand on her bare shoulder. The touch of her skin was so inviting that it made him pull his hand back.

She looked up at his touch, surprised…confused.

He looked down at his feet, embarrassed by her innocence. Then he raised his arm a second time, still not looking at her, and pulled her close to him, his arm resting across her shoulders. "I'm sorry," he apologized, softly and sincerely. Hermione frowned up at him and pouted. "I'm sorry," he repeated, eyes still on his feet, "I really am. Please forgive me." He looked up at her. Her pouted lips trembled.

"Aw…don't be like that," he sighed, his hand massaging her upper arm comfortingly. Something really bad must have happened to her today, he could feel it. (It just never occurred to him that _he _was the 'something bad' that happened to her.) He leant towards her and sniffed her hair. The scent of roses sent a warm feeling down his spine. His lips brushed the top of her ear, making her stiffen. She looked up at him, not really registering what she was seeing.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered slowly in her ear, his right arm wrapped itself tighter around her shoulders. "You're too lovely to be real…" his hushed voice and warm breath made her want to bury herself in his arms. His free arm lifted from his side and leisurely rested on her other shoulder. They stood facing each other, with his arms on her shoulders.

Every one of Hermione's instincts told her to pull away, slap him and run, but for some odd reason, she stayed where she was and looked into his silvery eyes. She was surprised by the warmth and concern in his eyes. She had never thought such icy coloured eyes could be so emotional and affectionate.

Oh…God.

Hermione's natural female intuition picked up a very strange wave of energy emitting from this boy standing in front of her. She knows what it was, but she was too afraid to divulge it. It was too dangerous and too risky to allow herself to believe it, but there is one thing she cannot deny – this white haired boy is definitely _not_ the Draco Malfoy she had known for the past six years. He _cannot_ possibly be.

Draco smiled at her. "I hope I'm not dreaming," he told her softly. Then he pulled her into his chest and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tight.

Hermione gasped silently as she came in contact with his body. It was amazing how much heat the boy generates. Instantly, she felt warm and relaxed. She felt both strangely tranquil and awkward. By this time, tears were rolling freely down her cheeks. She closed her eyes and breathed in. Everything about him…about _them_…felt so surreal, so unnatural and _so_ impossible that she, for everything in the world, wanted to dismiss all this – everything that had happened after she stepped out of the bathroom – as a bizarre dream. But his scent, his warmth, his body and his hug felt so sincere…she quickly forgot that she was in the arms of her childhood adversary and arrogant prick extraordinaire.

As for Draco, at the moment she entered into his arms he melted in pleasure. When you want someone so much that you can achieve an orgasm just by hugging them, then you know you're obsessed. Her soft body felt limp and welcoming in his arms. The scent of roses was so overwhelming now that Draco could just faint. His hands made small circles on her back, enjoying the way she felt. He lowered his face into the tresses of chocolate curls in the curve of her shoulder. He could just die right now and be forever content.

Her room, her bed, the school…_everything_ faded away. There was only Draco and Hermione engulfed in pure bliss. Hermione's hands slowly rose and clung on to the heavy fabric of Draco's robes around his waist. She melted deeper into his chest. Draco's right hand slid down to Hermione's lower back, still circling…massaging…he gently pressed his lips onto the bare skin on her shoulder. She trembled. Now both of Draco's hands lay on Hermione's waist. His left hand was moving lower and lower down her body, while his other hand began pulling up her towel. His movements were slow and subtle, but she caught onto everything through her delirium. A part of her ached to be touched, another part longed to break away, and she wasn't sure which part she wanted to listen to. Her hands clutched his robes tighter, giving him the right to choose.

Someone knocked on the door.

Hermione felt Draco tense. His muscles constricted. His hands froze. He lifted his head up from her shoulder. The room, the bed, and the door – it all came back into focus.

"Hermione?" It was Ginny's voice, muffled by the door. "Hermione, are you alright?"

Hermione frowned, at a lost of what was going on. Then she looked up and saw Draco's face. She felt his hand on her.

Her eyes widened at the memory of what had just transpired. This was Draco Malfoy she's embracing…_the_ Draco Malfoy!

Her hands dropped to her sides. Tears rained down her face and she began to cry.

The sound of Hermione's sobs brought Draco back to reality. He let go of her supple body. He could not believe the effect she had on him. He had forgotten about his meeting with Snape, his mission…he had forgotten who he was.

He spun around wildly, looking for an escape route. He saw the widow to his left and ran towards it. Stopping at the sill he looked back at his dear Head Girl. She had collapsed onto the carpeted floor, sobbing broken-heartedly. Draco's stomach twisted into a painful knot. Guilt stabbed him like a knife.

More pounding sounded at the door. "Hermione? _Hermione_!"

Draco knew he had to go. Without thinking, he opened the window, jumped onto the windowsill and leapt down into the night.

Lying sobbing on the floor, Hermione missed the warmth of his body already.

---

* * *

**A/N:**

Not all chapters will be this long. I am planning approximately twelve chapters in total - but plans may change, so don't count on it.

Please give me feedback and review. Thank you very much.

* * *


	4. III

**COUNTERFEIT **

* * *

**III**

Sweat dripped off Draco's eyelashes and rolled down his chin. He grunted and closed his eyes. Sweet pleasure. _Sweet_,_ sweet pleasure_. It's two-thirty, Sunday morning, and Draco is already hard at work…at…uh…pleasuring himself. Please, don't laugh. You really cannot blame him. After all, you remember what happened in Hermione's room that one afternoon…a week ago.

Yes, it has been a week, a very long week for our young hero and heroine, but especially for our hero. Every time he saw her curly locks, every time he smelt her faint scent of roses, every time his cloak brushed hers when they pass by each other in the hallways he starts sweating, his mouth becomes dry, his words come out as croaks and he has the most sinful urge to stop right there – in the middle of a busy hallway – drop his pants and wank himself crazy. Fortunately, the boy has _some_ sense of restraint, and he refrained from doing such. Instead, he saved it till after classes and dinner, after midnight and all his roommates fell asleep.

Then Draco would quietly flip himself onto his stomach and quickly rid himself of that masturbation hazard we call pants, and the rest is…censored. This was his nightly routine every night since last Friday, and it has become more and more addictive. A quiet worry nagged Draco's conscience about his dirty little habit, warning Draco that if he didn't stop this disgusting practice, his only partners in bed for the rest of his unworthy, pornographic life would be his butter lubricated hands.

This threat stung. The quiet little worry won. Draco stopped the nightly exploits of his hands on Friday, and he had planned for the prohibition to continue for some time, but life tends to throw you curves.

Earlier tonight, Blaise Zabini had, again, fabricated tales of his imaginary conquests of enchanting (however fictional) women, and retold them loudly and lavishly to the pair of furless gorillas – Crabbe and Goyle, "…so I took her hand in mine and wrapped my other arm around her waist and swept her into the silver-lined limestone pool…" Draco rolled his eyes as Blaise recounted his 'wild ride with a lovely female genie from Arabia'. The guy is pathetic. You would think that someone that is as good looking as Blaise wouldn't have to make up tales of how he fucked his famous yet non-existent ex-girlfriends, but here he is, possibly the best looking guy in their year, virginal and dreaming.

Draco wasn't sure if the last owner of his body had…ahem…_had_ a girl, as there were no records of such an event in any journals, diaries or in the Pensieve, but he was pretty sure that Draco the First had a little something going on with that slutty, short girl…Pansy, was it?

Well, the second Draco was not going to waste _his_ virginity on some whore the previous occupier of his body had liked to screw around with, and he told the girl as much (leaving out the little detail concerning the fact that the girl's real boyfriend was dead) and the girl ran off telling everyone that Draco cared _so_ much about her that he broke up with her to keep her safe, and after his 'important mission' is done, he's going to propose to her.

Draco wanted to puke at the very thought – some people can never take a hint.

But there was something about that Pansy girl that made Draco think about her as he went to sleep that night. He had a dream. He was kissing her, but he didn't want to. He couldn't pull away either, her lips were glued to his. Then he heard Blaise's voice, narrating, "…so I took her hand in mine and wrapped my other arm around her waist and swept her into the silver-lined limestone pool…" and then Draco was in an oasis. The water was the colour of aquamarine, and a tall waterfall thundered softly not so far away. Around him, the dense jungle flowered with colourful blossoms. The water was warm and soothing…Draco was in his happy place. Then he realized that he was naked…and scared. Pansy was in his arms, their lips still stuck together. She ran her hands down his chest, past his abdomen and to his groin. Draco twitched away disagreeably.

But in between all that he somehow knew he was dreaming. Draco desperately thought of a way to escape the unpleasantness. Suddenly, the faint scent of roses reached Draco's nostrils. Pansy turned into Hermione.

Hermione was dressed in her heavy Hogwarts robes, laughing at Draco's nakedness. Draco was immediately aroused. He reached out and ripped open Hermione's robes. He kissed her feverishly and desperately along her neck and down to her collarbone. She tasted so sweet. His hands fell down to her waist and released her from her skirt. Cupping her, he rested his head on her shoulder and was just about to enter her…when he awoke, sweating and provoked, eagle spread on his stomach, tangled in his thick blankets, moistened by his sweat.

Fuck this.

Draco reached to his nightstand, slathered that expensive skin butter on his hands and got to work.

Now, almost an hour later, Draco was almost done. His arms pumped furiously, and he groaned, his face buried in his pillow. On his knees, barely crouching and fully naked, sweat glistened on his skin, lit by the stray ray of pale moonlight. Tears now join the sweat gracing Draco's face. His body ached for her touch. He wanted to smell her scent again. Shaking from head to toe, Draco cried – tears poured freely, like an Amazon waterfall, from the corners of his eyes, down his flushed cheek, dripping off his chin.

God.

He wanted her. He wanted her enough to do anything to get her.

Moving faster and faster, making his bed creak, Draco was lost in pleasure and delirium. The indescribable sensation rose from his manhood up to the centre of his chest, then fanning out, down his arm and around to his back.

Finally, a stream of hot sentiment was released, and Draco collapsed back into bed.

"Never…again," Draco promised the shrill little worry voicing threats once again in his head, his voice just a breath of whisper. He fell asleep still bathed in leftover pleasure.

Little did he know that a few beds away lay a young man with soft cinnamon hair and fair features, listening to his every moan and every breath. The young man's electrifying blue eyes were wide open, frowning in wonder, disapproval and arousal.

---

Draco had skipped all his morning classes and lunch. He had only showed up to half of one of his afternoon classes, Advanced Potions, where he was excused to the restroom and never returned. His whereabouts throughout this day was a mystery to his friends and housemates alike. You, however, as avid followers of this tale get the privilege of discovering the truth behind this mind numbing mystery.

The answer, my friends, is very simple – Draco had basically slept in the whole morning, because he felt quite sick and worn out. He took a long bath and went down the hall to the kitchen to scavenge some food. By then he had felt a lot better, so he went to his next class – Advanced Potions. The _real_ mystery, however, is where did Draco disappear off to during the middle of the class?

Well…Professor Snape took the liberty of redistributing the results of the Process Assessment he had assigned the class a week ago. He called it a 'check-up' on the students' current understanding of the ideas and facts discussed so far in the unit, but everyone knew that he was just being his mean, pissy, PMS-ing self – trying to catch the students when they're unaware so he can take drop their average a bit more.

So, anyways…the results of the Process Assessments were stamped onto small, rectangular pieces of parchments, with the marks for every component in the Assessment in red and their names scrawled on the top, right-hand corner. On Draco's page, however, more than just his name was scrawled in Snape's barely legible writing.

'Detention: starting from the end of class. Stay behind and follow me to my office.' The little note on the side of the Assessment result sent shivers of reluctance down Draco's spine. Thinking fast, Draco 'accidentally' walked into a jug of some kind of animal blood that was resting on a ledge nearby. It splattered on him and on several housemates nearby. He was excused to the bathroom to clean up, but Draco proceeded up the marble staircase, leading up from the dungeons, instead.

He shrugged off his drenched cloak, draped it on his left forearm and ascended the stairs two steps at a time. He decided to head to the library – the one place where Snape would never look. He wasn't going to go to the detention, obviously. He'd rather die…and knowing Draco, I mean he would literally – rather die.

But along the route to the library, Draco looked up, out of…impulse, I guess, and he saw the carved, stone entrance to the Headmaster's office. He paused, brought his fingers to his mouth as he thought, then turned right around and headed up a flight of the enchanted moving staircases.

Moments later, he was standing in front of the statue guarding the Headmaster's office. He took a deep breath, here it goes…Snape better be right…

"Sour peaches," he announced loudly, and the statue began to turn…

---

"What are you doing here?"

"Supposed to be in class right now, you are…"

"Defiant, bull-headed boy–"

"…He's a _Malfoy_ – leave him alone."

"Being a Malfoy has nothing to do with it…"

Draco rolled his eyes, replaced the golden orb onto Dumbledore's desk and turned to face the portraits of the previous Hogwarts Headmasters – all currently busy scoffing him. He had no idea these…things were here. After all, this was really his first year in Hogwarts.

"Please, be quiet." He ordered, a little more polite than he intended to, "I have an appointment with Professor Dumbledore."

One Headmaster narrowed his dark eyes down at Draco. "Albus doesn't make appointments," he hissed.

"Yes he does," Draco answered, unfazed. He pulled out his Advanced Potions Process Assessment results and waved it quickly before shoving it back into his pockets, "See, the appointment."

"I don't remember you arranging the appointment," another Headmaster quipped.

"Well…I'd be surprised if you did," Draco answered him, smiling. "The appointment wasn't arranged in this office."

"See?" An overweight Headmaster with a pale, wide face sneered at the others, "The boy's got an appointment. Very formal…the Malfoy way of doing things…"

"Hmm…I don't know…" said another, carefully regarding Draco, "You all remember the letter Albus received last week…unusual and obscure things are happening around here…better be cautious…"

"Toward a student? Don't be ridiculous." The previous Headmaster scoffed, then nodded at Draco. "Professor Dumbledore isn't here right now, come back a later time perhaps."

Draco nodded, turned on his heel and exited the office.

"He left quick…a little suspicious don't you think? Didn't even ask what time Albus would be back…"

"Oh, you're just being paranoid now…he's a Malfoy after all."

"Ugh, hush about the Malfoys…"

The youngest Malfoy quickly descended the tight spiral staircase leading back down to the empty hallways, his heart still thumping from that little encounter. "Damn portraits…" he muttered to himself as he re-entered the public hallways, heading towards the library once again. "I'll be needing an invisibility cloak…"

I am ecstatic to report that Draco got to the library without any other distracting implications. He stayed at the library for the next three hours, only leaving to sneak down to the kitchen to grab some dinner. When he returned to the library, with a stomach full of pumpkin juice, steak tartare, peach cream pie and almost a whole fruit bowl of salad, the library was filled with students, panicking as they rushed about, trying to finish the homework they have yet to do due to the widespread epidemic of procrastination.

Draco unhappily discovered that some Ravenclaw fifth years now occupy his original table. He stomped over, violently wretched his book bag from under a stick of a girl (who flew off her chair and fell into the bookcase to her right), and began pacing around, looking for a new place to sit. Unfortunately for him, all the tables are taken – he has to find someone to share with.

Draco spun around looking for a familiar face…he saw many, it's just that he would never sit with these people to whom these faces belong to, because…well, because they hate him to hell – thanks to Draco Malfoy the First (known to Draco Malfoy the Second as the Slytherin Prince of Pricks – which I find ironic). Then, Draco spotted Blaise Zabini, sitting with the hairless gorillas at a joined table. He walked over and threw down his books and bag with a loud thump.

"Malfoy! Where have you been all day?" Blaise looked up, startled at Draco's ferocity.

"Nowhere," Draco replied flatly, his warning tone suggested his housemate to drop the topic. Blaise (very much unlike Pansy in this particular area) took the hint and shut right up. Draco was just lowering himself into his seat when, over the mass of the students' heads, he saw a lone girl with curly chocolate tresses two bookcases down. Draco hovered just before he touched the seat. His decision was made the moment he saw her. He sprang up suddenly, making the other three boys jump, snatched his book bag off the table, leapt over his chair (overturning it in the process) and hurried towards her.

Blaise Zabini stared after him until he disappeared around the first bookcase down the row. "Where's he going in such a hurry?"

"Dunno," Vincent Crabbe shrugged, watching his buddy Goyle secretly separating two smashed up cupcakes under the table. "He's been acting really weird all day," Crabbe said absent-mindedly, eyes still glued to the cupcakes.

"How do you know he's been acting weird if you haven't even seen him today?" Goyle inquired curiously.

"It's _because_ of the fact that I didn't see him all day that I know he's acting weird." Crabbe retorted.

"We barely saw him all last week, so why's today so different from the other days?" Goyle asked stupidly, looking up.

"Because–"

"Oh shut up, you morons," Blaise groaned, whacking them hard along the side of their heads. Goyle swatted Blaise's hand away, dropping the cupcakes in the process. Crabbe groaned as the chocolate icing splayed onto the carpeted floor. He had just dived down the table to rescue the cupcakes when suddenly a soft, velvet-like voice spoke from down the table.

"It's not just last week. Didn't you notice that Malfoy hasn't been acting like himself ever since September?"

The three Slytherin boys stopped what they were doing and looked over at where the source of the voice sat, cinnamon haired and bright eyed. The boy to whom the voice, hair and eyes belonged to turned his head to face them.

"Wh-what do you mean?" Blaise asked suspiciously.

The boy from down the table spoke quietly, "It's as if he's a different person…"

---

* * *

**A/N:**

This is indeed a semi-M chapter, but it's pretty much the only one. I won't categorize my entire story as M for only one chapter. Hope no one's offended by the content.

**Please** review!

Thank you very much.

* * *


	5. IV

**COUNTERFEIT **

* * *

**IV**

Immature and vile – that's what she thought of him as, immature and vile. Draco sighed, leaning back on his chair. Turning his head he watched the object of his affection walk briskly out of the library doors. He stood up and slowly slouched back to his Slytherin mates.

"Where'd you go?" Blaise asked, watching as Draco sat down across from him. Draco shrugged, silent. "Do you think I'm immature?" He asked instead. Blaise stared, caught off guard. "Do I think you're _what_?"

"Do you think I'm immature?" Draco repeated slowly, impatient. Blaise frowned and shook his head. "No," he replied easily, "I don't think so."

"I do." Came scoff from down the table. Draco scowled. He looked over. The cinnamon haired boy grinned up at Draco. "I think you're not only immature, but also quite insensitive, over-confident and oddly sadistic."

"Ouch." Blaise cringed. Crabbe laughed nervously. Draco didn't flinch. He scooted over to sit beside the boy. He couldn't remember his name at the moment, but he knows the first Draco thought highly of him – something rare and usual indeed.

"Do you really?" Draco asked, looking at the boy straight in the eye. The boy nodded.

"But then again…I _used_ to think that you were egotistical, spoiled and cowardly," the boy said, smiling sweetly. Draco tensed.

"What do you mean, you _used_ to think?" Draco asked sharply.

"Nothing," the boy shrugged as he picked up his books and stood up. "It's just a theory of mine, it might be wrong…but then again…they hardly are. Oh, and Dumbledore changed the password to his office…something about an uninvited visitor. I do believe he's on to you." The boy threw laughingly over his shoulder.

Draco stared after him, shock etched into every pigment of skin on his face.

"I…can't…believe…ugh! That bastard!" Draco turned to Blaise, who artfully covered a snicker with a sneeze. Draco whacked him along the side of his head anyway.

"Shut up, Zabini!" He warned, standing up. "And if you tell anyone…"

"Don't worry, I _won't_." Blaise promised, smiling as he crossed his heart with two fingers.

"Yeah, ha, ha. Real funny, fuckface," Draco spat as he shouldered his book bag, walking toward the library exit. "May God smite your idiot ass."

Blaise's booming laugh escorted Draco out of the library, leaving a perfect scowl on his fine-featured face.

---

Another week passed since then, and the beautiful autumn month of September ended, bringing in chilly October…the only problem was, October wasn't chilly at all.

Draco rolled up his sleeves, shutting his eyes against the bright sun leaking through the dungeon windows. October is starting out unusually warm. Many students ditched their long black cloaks. Pretty much all of the female population dusted off their skirts and pulled them on like they did in the summer months.

Draco was sweating from an afternoon baking in the greenhouses. He officially hates Herbology. He passed the Quidditch fields on his way back to his dorm, only to be mobbed by green clad gremlins on brooms. This was the first year Draco wasn't on the Quidditch team ever since he was legitimately allowed in his second year. This may be a result of the combination of the fact that he doesn't have time, and the ever-embarrassing he doesn't know how. Sticking him on a broom would have been very likely to be fatal to him and everyone within a forty-meter radius.

Now, safe in his dorm, Draco stretched and yawned, pulling off his tie. He threw it onto the ground and headed towards the showers.

A loud tapping sounded behind him. Draco turned. Four owls stood on the window ledge, hooting to be let in. Draco hurried over and unlatched the window. The owls fluttered in, each bringing with him a heavy, squat box. They dropped their load on Draco's bed and disappeared out the window from where they came.

Draco ripped open the brown paper wrappings of the box closest to him and pulled off its lid. Peering inside, Draco smiled – a genuine but somewhat frightening smile. If we add some fangs he could be passed off as a vampire.

---

"Hogsmeade weekend coming up, Hermione."

Hermione looked up from her Astrology chart. Ron was hovering over her, trying to balance a thick transfiguration textbook on his head. "Yeah," Hermione shrugged. "So?"

"Well…you coming?"

Hermione looked around. "Where's Harry?" she asked. Ron began shaking his head, but stopped when the textbook wobbled dangerously. "Dunno, Dumbledore called him up an hour ago. Haven't seen him since," Ron replied. The book wobbled again and fell with a thump. Hermione looked up in annoyance. "Pick that up, Ron, or Madam Pince'll have a fit." She snapped. But something about Ron's expression made her forget what she was going to say next. "Ron? What is it?" Hermione followed Ron's gaze and turned around in her seat.

Behind her was the figure of Harry, walking towards them. And next to him was none other than Gregory Goyle, chattering away to Harry as if they were old friends. Hermione's jaw dropped. Goyle flopped onto the seat next to her, still going on and on about whatever it was that he was going on about. Hermione was too bothered to listen. She looked over at Harry, who looked just as helpless and confused as she felt.

"What do you want?" Ron asked the thickset boy coldly. He got over his shock fast, Hermione thought.

"What do I want?" Goyle tilted his head, as if trying to remember something important. "Hm…I can't seem to remember…ah! Right." He turned to Hermione, "Hogsmeade weekend tomorrow, are you going, Hermione?"

"Maybe," Hermione said slowly and cautiously.

"'Cause, if you are, just write me a note, I want to show you something," Goyle smiled happily and rose from his seat. Seconds later he had already skipped out the library doors, leaving Harry, Ron and Hermione gawking after him.

Harry frowned. "…Wait, Hermione…did Goyle just ask you out?"

"Are you all blind or are you just pretending?" Hermione snapped, turning to her stunned friends, "Didn't anyone notice what he wore on his chest?"

"…No…"

"Terry Boot's Head Boy badge!" Hermione leapt up and began cramming her books into her school bag. "I'm going to find Terry." And she was gone…

None of them noticed a slender figure hiding behind the bookcase next to where they sat. Draco Malfoy was pissing himself laughing, his stomach about to explode from choking the laughter down so he wont be heard. He raised the round vial of Polyjuice Potion to his face, hand shaking. "Yup, it works alright." Draco wiped an invisible tear from his eye. "I'm going to have some serious fun this weekend."

---

Honeydukes was flooded with students. Ron had to brandish his raspberry liquorish wands in front of him to get through. Hermione followed close behind, waving goodbye to Harry and Ginny over the crowd.

"Let's go to Three Broomsticks," Ron suggested when they had finally squeezed out of the sweets shop. They headed down the dirt-paved road. While walking, Ron's hand brushed by Hermione's. Not surprising, as they walked quite close together. Ron blushed scarlet and turned away in embarrassment, Hermione, however, had the oddest sensation of wanting to puke.

Ron likes her. He really, _really_, likes her. And she feels awfully guilty for leading him on when she wasn't the least bit interested. Maybe she was, quite a while ago. But something happened along the way…something named Malfoy.

Ron's hand somehow found itself wrapped around Hermione's. She wanted to pull away, but it seemed rude, so she swallowed her discomfort and pretended his hand wasn't there. But it's really hard – you know, with his hand sweating like a pig and all that, but she endured it, telling herself to suck it up.

That all changed, however, when moments later, Ron's hand quietly left Hermione's and traveled across her waist.

Okay.

That's enough.

Hermione scowled and looked over at Ron. She twisted her body slightly, and his grip around her waist loosened. Ron looked over at her, startled…hurt.

He stopped walking, and stared at her. Hermione made herself stare back. She felt extremely uncomfortable. They didn't speak.

The awkward silence was shattered by Neville, who ran towards them, waving his hands while shouting something incomprehensible. His crimson face suggested that he ran a long way. But when he reached them, he wasn't panting, or even breathing hard, Hermione noted with surprise.

"Terry!" Neville shouted. His voice was lower than usual.

Hermione frowned , alert. "What about Terry, Neville?"

Neville didn't answer. He pranced around Hermione and Ron with agility that neither classmate knew he was capable of, still waving his arms. "Terry!" he shouted again, one arm smacking Ron on the face in mid-wave. "Help!" Neville finally managed to wheeze, pointing to the Three Broomsticks down the road.

Sensing trouble, Ron started running towards the drink shop, leaving Hermione and Neville in his dust. He's angry, Hermione concluded in annoyance. She made to follow him.

Neville, however, managed to trip over his own foot and he crashed into Hermione. They toppled over and fell as a heap onto the ground. Hermione groaned in pain as she sat up. Neville likewise, but stumbled and fell again, his hands reached toward Hermione, seeking balance.

Hermione was caught unawares by the sudden flapping hands coming her way.

One landed on her chest.

Hermione flinched.

Neville, however, didn't seem to notice. He continued trying to ease himself up from the ground using Hermione's breast as support.

"_NEVILLE_!" Hermione screeched, feeling utterly disgusted and very, very violated. Neville looked up. Hermione swore she saw the sides of his mouth twitch, as if he was trying to resist the urge to smile. His hand dropped to his side.

"Yeah?" Neville looked at her, innocent and wide-eyed. Hermione breathed in, trying to calm herself. She shook her head, arms folded across her front defensively.

"Nothing. Never mind," she muttered. Neville nodded and stood up, holding his hand out to help Hermione, who wrinkled up her nose and looked the other way. She got up by herself, eyes lowered to the ground, trying to forget the little incident, but telltale roses of humiliation bloomed upon her cheeks. She swallowed and looked up.

"Wh–" She stopped abruptly. Neville was gone.

Suspicion narrowed Hermione's eyes. What the hell just happened?

She spun around, scanning the little crowds of wizards for Neville. Nothing. She turned back just in time to see Ron hurrying towards her.

"What happened to Terry?" Hermione asked. Ron turned scarlet.

"Other than being scared half to death by me running in on him in the bathroom? Nothing." He said tensely. Hermione allowed herself a smile.

"Where Neville anyways?" Ron asked spitefully, glancing around. Hermione shook her head.

"I don't know," she said slowly, decisively.

Ron fell silent. The awkwardness that Neville disturbed returned. Hermione looked away.

"I'll go find him," Hermione told him, and took off, escaping the awkwardness.

She quickly rounded the end of the dirt road, carefully avoided the swelling crowd outside Honeydukes and turned the corner into another street. It was surprisingly very empty, save a pair of sixth year Gryffindor girls ogling at a richly colored dress robe from a store window. She recognized them as Ginny's friends.

Hermione stopped with a start. She took the wrong turn, dead end. She turned to head back and was smothered against a very broad chest. "Oomph!" A startled gasp escaped her. Hermione looked up to see the smiling face of Seamus Finnigan.

"Oh! Hello Se–" Hermione began, but her words were cut short by Seamus's lips, pressed against her own. Before Hermione realized what was happening, Seamus's tongue was against her lips, his hands massaging her back. "Hmmph!" Was all Hermione could muster. Her legs went jelloid, and her arms were pinned to her side by Seamus's arms enfolded around her.

The kiss ended as quickly and as unexpectedly as it began. It took Hermione a while to figure out that his lips weren't against hers anymore. Seamus held Hermione tightly for a short moment, his head bent and his lips against her neck.

"You're awesome!" He exclaimed happily, muffled by her hair. Then he was gone, sprinting back down the road. He let out a happy whoop as he turned the corner, jumping high into the air.

Hermione stared after him in shock. Her brain screamed at her to run after him and demand an explanation. Hermione took one step.

Then she collapsed onto the ground.

Okay, fine. Maybe after she gathered herself. Hermione thought as the dusty texture of the road leapt up to meet her for the second time.

---

When Hermione got back to the main road she was in the worst mood she has been in since the first day of school, when Professor McGonagall told her to pay attention in class. She felt assaulted (by both Seamus and Neville), embarrassed (Ginny's friends saw Seamus and her…you know), and worst of all – she felt confused. Her chaotic thoughts swam through her head in clutters. She couldn't focus. She would have walked into a street lamp if Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil had not snatched her out of its way.

"Harry was looking for you," Lavender told Hermione, smiling. Hermione heard her, nodded and continued on, but it was five minutes later that she fully processed the information. Blushing heavily, Hermione went back to find Lavender.

"Um…sorry, but did Harry say where he was going?" Hermione asked. Lavender spoke without a moment of hesitation; you can just tell she made effort to commit it to memory. "Yeah, he said he was going to get a Butterbeer."

Hermione thanked her and once again headed down the busy dirt road toward the Three Broomsticks.

When Hermione stepped through the drink shop door, the warm, crowded atmosphere made her woozy. Her vision blurred and she swayed on her feet. Hermione gripped the door handle and steadied herself. Her vision cleared. She scanned the cramped stalls and tables. It took her a little while to locate her friends. Harry, Ron and Ginny sat at a small round table near the back of the shop. Hermione hurried toward them.

A smiling waiter appeared at her elbow as Hermione flopped onto an empty seat. The waiter left a glass of chilly Butterbeer in front of her and disappeared. Hermione's friends turned to look at her. Harry was anxious and fidgety. He greeted Hermione hurriedly, in a hushed tone.

"I have something important to tell you," Harry began, addressing his two companions and girlfriend. "Lupin sent an owl to Professor Dumbledore to relay to me."

Ginny and Ron's attentions snapped to Harry. This, they thought, must be some super important information. They didn't want to miss out. And because of this little mistake on their part, no one noticed Hermione's weary pose, shut eyes and pained expression. She was in a bit of shock from the latest 'harassment'.

Harry continued, oblivious. "As you all know, Lupin is undercover among the rioting werewolves in London's sewers. He's climbed the social ladder in their midst and became very close to a certain Fenir Greyback. Remember him?"

Ron grunted, screwing up his face. "How can I forget?"

Next to him, Hermione was gingerly rubbing her temples, trying to calm her still racing heart. She took a sip of her Butterbeer.

Harry nodded impatiently, "Well…Lupin just sent word that Greyback is in contact with _Malfoy_."

Chair legs scraped loudly, covering Ginny's gasps and Ron's "I knew it!" (Which is a lie, by the way.)

Hermione leapt up from her seat, covering her mouth with her sleeve she ran for the ladies room. Harry, Ron and Ginny stared after her. Ginny arched one eyebrow. She looked back at her brother and at her boyfriend. "Hold on," she told them, and followed her friend.

When Ginny got to the washroom only one stall was occupied, and sounds of retching came from within. Ginny spoke softly through the door. "You okay Hermione?"

Sounds of vomiting answered her.

Ginny waited patiently, brows crinkled in worry. A few minutes later, the door of the stall opened. The person who stepped out, however, was not Hermione. It was Pansy Parkinson. Ginny didn't even think. Her natural offences sprang up.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Ginny asked, her tone vile. Pansy looked surprised.

"What?" She frowned, looking confused.

"Oh. _I _thought you were just unpleasantly nasty and slutty beyond description. I didn't know you were deaf too!" Ginny said amiably, yet the venom was still audible in her tone.

Extreme shock is an understatement to the expression on Pansy's face. She let out a short gasp of astonishment.

"I beg your pardon?" Pansy gawked at her.

Ginny began to become impatient. She tapped her foot and rolled her eyes. Not wanting to waste time, Ginny moved away from Pansy and began checking the other stalls for Hermione, just in case.

Nothing. All the stalls were empty.

A bloodcurdling scream almost shattered Ginny's eardrums. She spun around.

Pansy stood pressed up against the white sink, staring into the mirror in front of her, hands clutching her face. "Oh no, oh no. No, no, no…no…" Pansy muttered, exasperated. She looked devastatingly frightened.

Ginny took two steps back. Her shoulder blades brushed the wall behind her. Hermione isn't here. She'd better make an exit. After all, Pansy Parkinson has been known to be quite unstable. Ginny slowly inched her way toward the door while keeping a wary eye on the now hysterical Pansy.

Before Ginny could make it to the door, however, Pansy twirled around. She covered her face with her sleeves and dashed for the exit. There was a loud thud as Pansy raced out. Ginny stood still. Loud shouting and sobbing (probably Pansy) erupted outside.

In barely a minute, the shouting subdued and Ginny peeked out the restroom door just in time to see Draco Malfoy forcefully escorting a sobbing but defiant Pansy out of Three Broomsticks. Ginny scratched her head and shrugged. She exited the restroom and trotted back to Harry and Ron.

---

Draco dragged her to Madam Puddifoot's. The overpowering scent of cinnamon swallowed her the moment she was pushed through the door. Hermione felt like she was going to faint.

Someone had put something disgusting (most likely Polyjuice Potion) in her Butterbeer, which she had never ordered, Hermione remembered with a start. Not only that, it was a waiter who gave it to her. Waiter? At Three Broomsticks?

Hermione's eyes widened as she thought. Only she wasn't Hermione anymore. The Polyjuice Potion turned her into Pansy Parkinson. (Remember that the next time you think you had a bad day.)

Hermione was bewildered by Ginny's insults and became a little traumatized when she saw herself in the mirror. She ran out of the restroom (thinking of hiding in her dormitory until the effects wore off) and crashed into Malfoy.

Coincidence? _I_ think not.

Draco Malfoy had gripped her tightly by the wrist and dragged her off. He thinks she's Pansy, Hermione decided. That's going to be embarrassing. But how was she to get out of it? "I'm sorry, Malfoy. But, er…I'm under the influence of the Polyjuice Potion and I'm not really your girlfriend. I'm actually the big-haired bookworm you hate so much. So if you'd be so kind to let me go…?"

Yeah.

I don't think so.

Malfoy wouldn't believe her anyways, Hermione reasoned. She sat Pansy's body down in the chair Draco had drawn for her and folded Pansy's hands upon Pansy's lap. She's wait for Malfoy to leave to buy a drink and get the hell out of here.

No such luck: Madam Puddifoot herself brought them their drinks.

Hermione tensed in her seat and stared gloomily down at Pansy's shaking hands. Across from her, Draco sighed.

"I know I was a little harsh, Pansy, but you have to understand." Draco said softly. His voice was filled with the warmth and tenderness Hermione never knew he had. "It was a hard decision to make, and you've been so loyal to me…"

Hermione snorted. Ginny and her had caught Pansy and a Slytherin seventh year necking in the empty Charms classroom the year before.

Draco continued, undisturbed. "I'm sorry. It's my fault. I just…I never loved you. I mean, I liked you a lot, but I never really loved you. I…I don't know…I couldn't."

Hermione wholeheartedly wished that she could record this little monologue and replay it for Pansy some time later.

"The whole 'dangerous task' and 'Dark Lord's business' excuse I made up, because I didn't want to hurt you. But you're hurting me." Draco's eyes were cast down toward the table. "I've just found out…I'm in love…with someone else…"

Hermione's throat tightened painfully. Uh oh.

"Wh-who?" Hermione managed to croak.

Draco looked up. The sincerity in his eyes terrified her. He met her eye and whispered, "Hermione Granger."

Hermione shot up from her seat, and in seconds was out the door, leaving a path of upturned chairs and spilled drinks in her wake.

Draco Malfoy sat back in his chair and smiled quietly to himself. This was the best day of his life.

---

* * *

**A/N:**

This chapter wasn't one of my favorites, so I procrastinated. Writing it was hell (you may have noticed from the lacking in quality). I promise the next one will be much better. Thank you very much for waiting.

Review, please.

* * *


	6. V

**COUNTERFEIT **

* * *

**V**

Apparently, werewolves can't write.

Okay, fine, they can scrawl a bit.

Draco crinkled his brows as he stared at the piece of parchment the limping owl delivered him this morning, trying to make some sense out of it. He turned it upside down. Ah, there it was: a date and a time. Good. But as for the rest of the illegible letter…nah, it probably wasn't that important anyways.

Draco crunched the yellow parchment into a ball and threw it over his shoulder, not caring where or on whom it lands. He picked up his cloak by the collar and draped it over one shoulder. With a simple gesture, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle stood and escorted him out of the Great Hall.

What girl wouldn't awe at his charisma and authority? Hermione found herself no longer immune. She stared after him, her breath caught in her throat. I guess these are the little things lovers and beloveds notice about one another that either drives them crazy or draws them closer together. Oh, _sorry_. I take that back. Our hero and heroine aren't lovers, not yet.

With that in mind, Hermione's defenses _have_ been worn down. It took him four months, but he has achieved the impossible. Still, Hermione wasn't a quitter. Her rationality declared war on her sentimentality more than a month ago. Battles had been lost and won, the outcome of the war, however, is still as fogged as London on a mild day.

Harry was talking, whispering, something about a grey back. Hermione wasn't listening. She _couldn't_ listen. Focusing on eating was already taxing enough. She sighed and put down her fork; her apple pie untouched.

"You gonna eat that?"

Hermione barely heard Ron. She turned to him. Not really registering what she was seeing, she nodded. Ron swooped down on her piece of apple pie like a hawk on a field mouse. It was gone within the minute.

Ron and her didn't talk to each other for half a month after that last Hogsmeade weekend. It was just too awkward between them. They're getting over it now, at least Ron was. Hermione was finding it harder and harder to treat him civilly. His crude mannerism and redundant pessimism are pissing her off more and more. Hermione stole a glance at him now: cheeks bulging with mashed potatoes and apple pie, with a chicken leg in his right hand, pumpkin juice in his left, and smiling widely.

Hermione shuddered. She quietly swung her bag over her shoulder, picked up her Arithmancy textbook and whispered a quiet good bye. Ginny gave a small wave of farewell, Harry looked up at her and nodded, but Ron, who was sitting the closest, was deaf and ignorant of her.

Hermione's jaw muscles tensed. She turned hastily and made her way toward the doors of the Hall. As she approached the exit a slight figure stole in front of her, blocking her way. Hermione looked up, startled.

"Nott," She nodded.

"Granger," Theodore Nott greeted in return. He stood unmoving, blockading her way. Hermione had no time for this. "Excuse me," she said quietly, going around him. He took a step sideward and stood in her way once again.

Hermione's patience for the day was in low supply. "I _need_ to…go." She said, her voice trembled a bit more than she would have wished. Theodore nodded in understanding, yet he stood unmoving, playing with a strand of his hair. Hermione pulled herself up to her full height (which was still at least half a head shorter than Nott's), and puffed out her chest where her Head Girl badge gleamed. "Out of my way, Nott." She said as assertively as she could muster.

Theodore Nott smiled, his lightning-like eyes shone. "Sure," he said pleasantly, "as soon as we have our discussion."

Warning bells sounded in Hermione's ears. "What discussion?" She inquired suspiciously. Theodore smiled, "Oh, you know. The one about a certain Slytherin Prince who had taken interest of you recently."

Hermione stiffened; her heart skipped a beat. "What?"

Theodore smiled and with a swept of his hand, gestured her toward the stairs. "The library will have a quiet spot for us," he said and bowed. His cinnamon colored hair fell into his eyes.

---

The library was indeed quiet, due to the fact that it was very much deserted. Theodore directed Hermione to a small table hiding behind a thick stone column in the back corner of the library. They sat facing each other. Hermione readied herself for the twisted threats and blackmailing that she was expecting only to be thrown by his first question.

"Do you notice something different about him?" Theodore asked with a slight tilt of his head. Hermione blinked. What?

It took her several seconds to get her bearings straight. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Theodore crossed his legs under the table and leant back in his chair, staring at a spot behind Hermione's head, thinking. "Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary about him? The way he dresses, his attitude, behavioral-wise, personality, temperament…anything?"

Hermione frowned. What's this boy playing at here?

She wasn't sure if she should trust him – he is Slytherin after all. But it _is_ wrong to discriminate. Besides, he's a loner. No one really likes him. He doesn't really have any friends…except for (gasp!)… Malfoy.

As if reading her mind, Theodore smiled at her and said, "This conversation will only be heard and known by the two of us, by the way." He assured convincingly.

Hermione looked straight into his electricity blue eyes. She believed him. His eyes told her to.

"Let me explain," He paused. "I first noticed a difference in his appearance."

Hermione stared. "His _what_?"

"His appearance – oh, don't mind me, I tend to notice the odd things…for a male." Theodore shrugged. He looked up, surprised by the look of confusion on Hermione's face. "Oh, sorry, didn't you know?"

"Know what?"

"I'll take that as a no," He suddenly smiled – warm and friendly. "Well…" He paused and shrugged, "um, I don't tell people this often, seeing how my housemates reacted to this…let's just say I have a _slightly_ different sexual preference."

Hermione's eyes widened, "_Really_?"

Her astonishment caught him off guard. "Well…yeah. Why do you think I'm so isolated by the other members of my house?"

Hermione frowned, deep in thought. She bit her lip.

"Wait a minute…you…and Malfoy…are you two–"

"_No_! No, no, no." Theodore laughed. It sounded like bells tinkling. "You're getting the wrong idea. See…Draco was the only one who really looked past that little part of me. He treated me well. He's my friend" Theodore sighed, and added in an undertone, "…well, he _was_."

Hermione nodded, suddenly comprehending. The way the Slytherins look at Nott, whether if it was in the Great Hall during meal times or in class. The way they exclude him, talk about him behind his back, and the way they flit out of his way as he walks down the halls…it all makes sense. Theodore Nott is gay.

"Oh."

Hermione looked up at the ceiling as she thought.

"So…" she narrowed her eyes, "why do you want to talk with me about him?"

Theodore exhaled noisily. He leant forward in his chair and lowered his voice. "I have reasons to believe the Draco Malfoy we see before us today is an impostor – a counterfeit."

---

She didn't believe him. He didn't expect her to, and he told her as much. Saying Draco had all his memory swiped and replaced was already too far fetched, but a counterfeit? Impossible.

Hermione trudged through the first-years-packed hallway, deep in thought. She tried to focus her mind on the matter in hand – Draco Malfoy being a fraud, yet her mind keeps slipping.

_Wait…you…and Malfoy…are you two– _

No_! No, no, no. You're getting the wrong idea. See…Draco was the only one who really looked past that little part of me. He treated me well. He's my friend…_

Theodore's eyes adverted hers when he said that. Bitterness was clear in his voice. As subtle as he was in hiding it, Hermione still heard. Malfoy…and Nott: the possibilities were endless. Hermione shivered. The thought disturbed her, and so she brushed it out of her mind.

---

Later that afternoon, right before dinner, Hermione hid herself in the library. It made sense, now as she looks back upon the last few months in comparison to the last couple of years. As Theodore pointed out, Draco doesn't preen as he used to. Before this year he always tugged at his jumper, folded his collar, constantly picking invisible lint off his cloak, and combed his hair in the hallways. His voice, which Hermione liked to describe as a whiny, soprano clatter, used to drive her nuts. But this year, it was deeper and thicker, like honey. The tonal discrepancy in his voice was so different that it couldn't possible be a product of puberty.

Hermione pulled a thick volume off one of the top shelves. It was dusty and covered in cobwebs. Madam Pince was negligent indeed. Hermione blew the dust off the cover and read the title. Nope, no good. She re-placed it and reached for another one. Fine particles of sand rained down upon her. Hermione coughed.

She lowered her arm, wilting under the weight of the thick volume in her hand, and dropped the book onto her lap. She read the title on the leathery cover – _Anomalous_ _Magical Maladies and Cures, By Ptolemaeus_. It'll have to do.

Hermione swung her schoolbag over one shoulder and trotted to the checkout counter. She'll read the book tomorrow, when she has the time. She needed to study for her Transfiguration Progress Assessment tonight, Hermione decided as she dropped _Anomalous_ _Magical Maladies and Cures_ into her bag and headed down to dinner.

---

It was half past eleven and _way_ past Hermione's usual bedtime. When she would usually be fast asleep on any other night, Hermione was wide-awake and walking through the moonlit Hogwarts grounds.

The moon was beautiful, like an illuminated melon, having fallen into the dark folds of the night sky. Hermione's sneakered feet treaded silently on the frosty grassy ground, and her plaid skirt lifted above her knees as she walked. It was Astronomy class, and the high tower was packed full of seventh year students, of which she was the only female Gryffindor. All the available stargazing spots were taken, and Hermione was in a hurry to get back to her dorm. The quicker she was able to finish her chart, the quicker she would be able to get to bed, and the better she would be able to perform on that Progress Assessment tomorrow morning. So instead of waiting in the dragon-long queue for the prime stargazing spots, Hermione decided to sneak down to the school grounds to complete her chart. The very thought of committing this 'act of defiance' (as she called it) filled her with an overwhelming feeling of power.

Hermione decided to go for it. It's a first-and-last kind of thing. It's also one of those second-quick decisions that you eventually come to regret for the rest of your life – not that she knew at the time.

So here she was, heading towards the Quidditch fields, planning to get up on one of the towering viewing stands to set up her telescope. The darkness enveloped her and good ol' paranoia that is so common in humans when it comes to the night crept up upon her. Hermione broke into a slow jog, which was made difficult by the heavy (and expensive) telescope she carried in her arms.

Hermione's paranoia grew as she thought she heard quiet footfalls behind her. She ran faster.

"–Which way?"

Hermione halted. Body half turned, she looked behind her fearfully. What was that?

"The forest? Are you sure?"

Hermione began to sweat. Okay, somebody definitely just spoke.

"Well…nothing really."

It sounded like one side of a conversation. Hermione tiptoed under the cover of the castle wall on her left. The wall rounded off further ahead, it was one of the towers. Hermione set down her telescope and her chart. She slowly stole ahead to the curved wall and peeked around it.

Her head snapped back. Her eyes were widened in recognition. She could identify that mercurial hair anywhere. She sucked in a breath to calm herself. Curiosity replaced the shock on her face.

What was _he_ doing here? Think; think…he said something about the forest, the Forbidden Forest, presumably. Hermione's brow arched as she mused.

When the silver head bobbled out from behind the curved wall and towards the Forbidden Forest, Hermione had already made up her mind. She followed him at a distance; her eyes were alert to every movement he made, like the way feline predators stalk their prey.

The problem came when they came upon the looming tree line of the forest. The moment Hermione's 'prey' stepped into the forest, its shadows swallowed him. The full moon's light was veiled from his (highly reflective) hair. Unlike many feline predators, however, Hermione's eyes were not suited to 'hunt' in the dark.

She refused to give up, and followed him in. He was up to something, and she planned to find out what.

Hermione crept from tree to tree, hiding behind the thick callous trunks, paranoid of him spotting her. She advanced slowly. Eventually, the silhouette of the Hogwarts castle was replaced by the twisted darkness that blanketed the Forbidden Forest. Her steps became quicker as she slipped through the shrubberies.

Hermione halted and sucked in a deep breath. There, in front of her, was something hair-like, bleached white by the moonlight. Hermione squinted and blinked, she could only make out its faint outlines. He seemed to be crouching.

He moved left. Hermione followed. She squinted her eyes again and frowned. Was he walking on his hands and knees? No, she must have seen wrong. It's hard to pinpoint his exact position and posture when he's moving so fast. Hermione had to break into a bit of a jog to keep up.

He turned right, faked left, went straight for a while then turned back, then right, right again, and left, like he was leading her through a dark maze of which he was the only one who knew where the right path lay. Hermione soon lost her sense of direction.

Out of breath she stopped, leaning against a tree. They stopped in front of a clearing. The moonlight spilled down and illuminated the ground like a spotlight. Hermione's 'prey' paced back and forth in the shadowy depth around the edges of the light. Hermione drew herself upright. Her eyes drilled a hole into the forest's shadows.

He's crouching again, she observed. And he's scratching his head…no wait…never mind, just a branch. Is that his hair? Wow, he has a big head, she never noticed before…or is that…? Hermione gasped silently. That's not his head, that's his back…he has a hairy back? No, Hermione shook her head at herself; she was seeing things again.

There was a small rustle in the undergrowth as the 'prey' moved towards the lit edges of the clearing…

Oh.

Fuck.

Two golden eyes glared back at Hermione.

She stepped back, stumbled and fell with a crash. The eyes narrowed. Hermione's throat clenched painfully.

_Werewolf_.

There it stood, finally fully lit by the moonlight. It slowly stalked towards her.

Hermione's breathing became ragged. She inched backwards, still on the ground. It came closer, and closer. Hermione's eyes locked onto its. She sat, paralyzed, her mind blank.

Suddenly, something wet and cold pressed against the back of her ear. Something warm and sponge-like brushed the undersides of her earlobe. Hermione slowly turned her head. Two yellow eyes stared back at her. The second wolf pulled back its lips and bared its teeth, as if leering at Hermione.

A violent scream gurgled from her opened mouth.

---

Draco stopped and turned. The scream's echo faded slowly.

"Who was that?" He whispered. The grey-cloaked wolf in front of him shook its head, its eyes rolled up to the heavens. Draco pulled out his wand nevertheless.

"Tell him I'm proceeding as I planned," he instructed the werewolf distractedly as he turned to leave. There was a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach as his mind formed gruesome images of the source of the scream.

Draco followed the sounds of low snarls and short panicked shrieks. At first, he was trotting quickly over the knotted roots of the century of trees, and then he began to jog, ultimately, he began sprinting. He crashed through the layers of grasses, bushes and shrubbery, tripped over fallen logs and leapt over hidden gullies.

At last he came upon the scene.

Two wolves circled under the thick low branches of an elderly oak, growling and glaring up at a pair of black ankle boots, from where two pale legs extended up to a crumpled plaid shirt that had a tear along the side. Even as he was unable to see anything above that, Draco's fear had already been confirmed. Though he did find it a lot easier to breath to see her moderately safe from the werewolves' reach.

With a quick muttered word, Draco sent the wolves scattering amidst a shower of fire and sparks. He stumbled forward. Looking up from under the tree, Draco can pick out the pale terrified face of the Head Girl, stained with tears and dirt.

He held out his arms. "Come, jump. I'll catch you."

Hermione shook her head furiously, arms clasped around the trunk in a death grip. Draco sighed. "They're gone, and they won't be back," He lied. "_Jump_."

Once again Hermione refused.

"_Get your ass down here NOW_! …Okay, I'm sorry. Please come down, love."

An exasperated cry answered him.

Draco let out a deep sigh. He rolled his eyes at her and pocketed his wand. He stretched out his arms and leaped up. His hands grasped onto two of the lower branches. He lifted himself up.

Hermione peered down at him, her arms loosened around the tree trunk. She wiped the side of her face against the fabric of her cloak's shoulder. She looked down again.

He was gone.

Hermione's heart gave a thud. She craned her neck and looked down. She couldn't see him anywhere. Now her hands had let go of the trunk altogether. Instead, they clutched the branch she was sitting on.

An owl hooted somewhere above her, and she jumped. Anxiety and panic flooded through her.

Suddenly, her branch lurched. With a shriek, Hermione slipped off the branch and tumbled into the darkness beneath…

* * *

**A/N:**

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Thank you very much for reading and reviewing (and since I've already thanked you for reviewing you might as well just do it).

(P.S. I've started writing a very long oneshot about our _beloved_ Voldemort. It's going to be pretty awesome. I'm planning to have it posted in a week or two – I'll tell you when I've posted it.)

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	7. VI

**COUNTERFEIT **

* * *

**VI  
**

Severus Snape paced the pews. The heat of the burning late summer sun was magnified through the stained church windows. Beads of sweat were wiped hastily away by an impatient sweep of his long robes' sleeve.

The _furball_ was late.

Snape raised his left hand, palm kissing the heavens and muttered a short spell. A cyan bottomed and violet tipped wisp of flame erupted hovering above his centre palm. A faint shape flickered within it.

"Is he not there yet, Severus?" The flickering silhouette spoke.

"No," Snape snapped, feeling cheated and agitated.

"Patience, Severus, he will be with you soon." The silhouette flickered one last time and went out.

Snape heaved a long sigh and dismissed the fire, "Very well...Albus."

It was ten very long minutes later that the church's heavy doors creaked behind Snape. A pair of heavy boots sounded on the wooden floor. The doors creaked shut again. "Severus," greeted the newcomer. Severus looked up at the muggle clock on the wall and scowled, half an hour late – the nerve of him.

He turned around and his narrowed eyes washed over the sore sight. "Remus," he muttered from between his clenched teeth.

Remus Lupin hastened to the Potions Master's side and handed him a brown paper wrapped parcel. Severus received it at arm length, his eyes hardened. Remus noticed with a sigh of irritation.

"We're associating on terms of acquainted partners in…business, Severus. No need of hostilities." Remus said tiredly. Severus merely grunted. Remus turned and rolled his eyes, "Let bygones be bygones…forgive and forget – I'm sure you've heard these sayings?"

"I can't forgive a man if he doesn't apologize, _Remus_," Severus snarled, turning to face the werewolf. Remus stood silent for a moment, emotions washing over his open face.

"Fine," he said finally, painfully. "I can't speak for Sirius or James…I can only speak for myself, and yes, I do apologize, for everything."

Snape straightened, satisfied. "Apology accepted…" He sniffed. Remus nodded and turned again to leave. He stopped at the door. Opening it he stopped, "On the next full moon Greyback has arranged a meeting with the Malfoy boy, Albus wanted me to intercept the exchange if possible…so I was wondering if…"

"I'll meet you by the Whooping Willow half past midnight," Severus said quietly, his voice carried to Remus's ear only as hollow echoes vibrating from the high wooden beams upholding the church's arching roof, "…and make sure you drink the potion before you come."

At the door, with his back to Snape, Remus smiled faintly. A pleasantly odd sense of irony washed over him. "Thanks." He whispered, almost sure that Severus hadn't heard him, and exited.

In between the two front pews, Snape stood with the parcel heavy in his arms, the werewolf's short appreciative whisper clear in his mind.

---

Hermione's heart gave a thud. She craned her neck and looked down. She couldn't see him anywhere. Now her hands had let go of the trunk altogether. Instead, they clutched the branch she was sitting on.

An owl hooted somewhere above her, and she jumped. Anxiety and panic flooded through her.

Suddenly, her branch lurched. With a shriek, Hermione slipped off the branch.

She began to fall, head first, her arms and legs spread, hurtling down towards the forest's mossy ground. In her panicked mind the only thought that came through was: so this is what it's like to plummet to your death.

Fortunately (for her), she didn't have the opportunity to experience the agony of a shattered hip and the crushing reality of gravity, because quite suddenly (and very painfully) something grasped her failing right leg at the ankle. Her leg tightened and stretched, she felt as if she was being pulled into two. Gravity left its death grip on her. She hung upside down, seeing stars. It took her a while to get the feeling back in her leg. She looked up at her tortured leg to see that a pale slim hand had clutched her right ankle.

She let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

Draco sighed in relief, his heart beginning to return to its normal pace. It felt as if he had just ran a marathon. He tested the tree branches that entwined securely around him, and began to pull.

Hermione yelped as the hand began to pull her upward. She realized with a start that her skirt now hung in a very inappropriate way. It was a given, seeing that she _is_ upside down.

Draco tried to only make skin to skin contact with Hermione's ankle, he really did, but then a thought occurred to him: he is a member of the male species, therefore it is impossible for him to be even the least bit decent no matter how hard he tried. So he stopped pretending. He dropped his gentlemanly air and reached down with his other hand to grab her other leg. He was planning to pull Hermione up by the ankles and politely set her down on the closest branch until she caught her breath, then he would escort her down the tree and back to her dorm. But now that he's got his true nature figured out, he hugged one arm around her knees the other hand clutched the fabric of the front of her robes and heaved her up next to him like a sack of dragon spine powder.

Of course it was a lot harder than it sounded. For one thing, she moved and fidgeted a lot, especially to fix her skirt. Draco mustered every drop of his civility to not look, so there really isn't any point of her trying to cover up. Her life was in danger, and worst of all, dependant on the actions of Draco Malfoy, and all she could think about was whether her pretty little turquoise knickers were showing…_women_, honestly…

Her pretty little turquoise knickers were kind of exciting for Draco to look at…even though he 'mustered every drop of his civility to not look', but mind you, this is _the_ (second) Draco Malfoy we're talking about. He only has about two and a half drops of civility…so that's not saying much.

_Anyways_, when he has finally managed to haul he up onto his branch, she was blushing scarlet of embarrassment and shame.

Draco's hand reached out and lay open in front of her. "Coming?" He smiled. Hermione placed her hand on top of his, her eyes locked on to his. _I have reasons to believe the Draco Malfoy we see before us today is an impostor – a counterfeit_. It was that very moment that Hermione believed Theodore Nott. But who is this imposter, and what is he doing here, in Draco Malfoy's body?

---

Two golden eyes gleamed in the shadows, watching the unlikely duo descend the tree. The werewolf's snout twitched. His sensitive nose recognized them, and the wolf gave a start. His nose must have smelt something else. The wolf extended its neck heavenward and sniffed. Nope, he wasn't mistaken, it is them…it is _her_.

Foolish girl.

The werewolf stepped one furry paw into the moonlight, but pulled back hurriedly as another scent flared up in the surrounding air. A figure masked by sweeping robes emerged. "Draco!" It was Snape. The werewolf didn't need to hear his voice to know it was him – the smell was…distinctive enough.

"What are you doing out so late in these dreary woods, sir? The devil's full moon does no good for your health." The boy replied smartly.

There was a short pause. "I can ask you the same question, Draco." The professor spoke in a hiss. He turned to the girl, "And you too, Miss Granger. I had assumed you were above this kind of perfidy."

The wolf wrinkled his snout. Dear old ugly-tempered, funny-spoken Snape.

"I was lost sir…" The girl stammered. The wolf tsked, what a bad liar she was. Snape certainly thought so too, for he asked, "How exactly did you get lost from the Great Hall to the Gryffindor Tower and end up _here_?"

The wolf nodded to himself and settled his grey head onto his two front paws. He perked up his ears and listened, he had wondered the same thing. This should surely turn out quite interesting.

"I…well, I…" The girl was clearly contemplating exactly which weak little lie she was going to employ, but luckily for her, the Malfoy child decided to butt in.

"That is a woman's private matter, sir. I presume you have the civility to not pursue this affair further," The boy was smiling, the wolf could tell. (Remember our discussion about Draco's two and a half drops of civility earlier? Yeah, I find this a little rich, coming from him.)

"It is my duty, as a professor at Hogwarts, to pursue every suspicious affair the students attending this fine establishment may have, Mister Malfoy." Snape's voice cracked a little. The wolf had to muffle his chuckle.

The boy didn't even flinch, "Why that is _very_ noble of you sir."

"_No one is leaving until my questions are answered_!" Snape shouted. The wolf raised its head and looked around warily. Dumb ol' Snape, such an attention seeker…if Greyback heard him…tsk.

"Fine," the boy's voice hardened, "if that is your wish, sir, we will have to abide. _But_, Miss Granger here is completely innocent of anything that…that…has to do with anything else. So, if you could kindly let her leave…"

"Goodnight, Miss Granger." Snape's response was curt. The wolf narrowed his eyes. Snape wants to talk to the Malfoy child alone, but why, and what about? Snape continued, "Mister Malfoy, you and I shall discuss the happenings of this night. I wont tolerate the escape of a single strand of detail."

It was obvious that Granger was relieved of her dismissal, but the wolf could sense the stiffness of the Malfoy boy's body. He knew he made a dire mistake. "Hold on," The boy said quickly, grabbing the girl's sleeve and pulled her back. "I just remembered, I'm…responsible for Miss Granger's safe return to…her friends to whom I have taken a vow to escort her to the safety of her dorm without harm at the end of the night. So…" The boy broke off. The forest was silent.

Of course it was Snape who broke the tranquility with his redundant hissing.

"And why exactly are _you_ responsible for Miss Granger's safety?" Snape asked.

The boy thought for a minute, "I'm afraid that is not appropriate to share with a professor of your esteem." The boy replied. In other words, he hasn't come up with a good enough lie yet.

The wolf could just imagine Snape's livid face, glaring daggers at the boy, because after a few moments' pause the boy sighed.

"…But of you _must_ know…Granger and I have been passionate lovers for a while, and we have taken refuge from the judgment of our peers by keeping our…_involvement _secret." The wolf had to stand up at the boy's words. Such nerve! He never knew the Malfoy child had it in him.

"_Ridiculous_!" Snape snapped. The wolf nodded in agreement.

The boy was unimpressed, "And why is that, sir?"

Because she hates you, the wolf thought, narrowing his eyes at the figure of the boy, wondering what goes on in that messed up little mind of his.

"_Because_ she…you…" Snape stopped, huffing. Then finally, "_Goodnight_, _Miss Granger_!" He practically screamed. The girl flinched and quickly departed, but not before she gave Malfoy the most scorching and venomous of any woman's glare.

"And _you_!" Snape cuffed the boy around the side of his head. "You come with me!"

The wolf promptly decided that Snape had finally snapped, as he watched the man drag the protesting boy out of the forest by the ear. The wolf hadn't seen a teacher use that method at Hogwarts since his third year. The wolf stretched and yawned, thoroughly believing that he had just seen the performance of the season, and strolled lazily back into the forest's shadowy depth.

The full moon was almost gone. He needs to find his clothes before he turns back to Remus Lupin.

---

Hermione had stood through Draco and Snape's violent exchange not knowing whether to laugh or to cry. Now that she had returned to the safety of her Head Girl's room she did both. At first she laughed so hard that her stomach felt it was going to split and she couldn't stand up no matter how hard she tried. Then she remembered her fall, the werewolves and _him_ – his arms around her legs, his hand, which she held as he helped her descend the tree – and she hugged her bruised knees to her sore heart and she cried. She cried so hard that her tears dried up and she passed out (either that or she just fell asleep).

She woke with a start barely half an hour later. She checked her wand for the time and tried to go back to sleep. She couldn't. She felt more restless than she had ever known herself adept of.

She paced her room for another ten minutes.

Then her eyes caught her open book bag on her floor. She saw the bronzed cover of _Anomalous_ _Magical Maladies and Cures_. She slowly trotted over, wondering. She stood over the book for another good ten minutes before she bent down and picked it up. She had made up her mind. Time to figure out exactly what had gotten into Draco Malfoy.

---

* * *

**A/N:**

It's a short chapter (shortest so far – not counting the prelude) but with a lot of info. I got quite a writer's block this past week. But I did find a new inspiration, so now this story is going in a whole different direction. I want to finish my absolutely amazing (in my very biased and probably unreliable opinion) two part short about Voldy. Then I want to start on the story Gyss gave me. I still don't know what to call it yet.

I hope you enjoyed the story.

That's all. 

Click the Submit (review) button…it's right underneath…

* * *


	8. VII

**COUNTERFEIT**

* * *

**VII**

The corridor was empty. For the second time in the same night, the Head Girl broke the school's curfew. She snuck through the portrait hole and peered around the corner. All clear. She proceeded towards the dungeons.

She couldn't sleep. She took two hours and read _Anomalous_ _Magical Maladies and Cures_ from cover to cover. She still couldn't sleep. She paced her room, counted sheep, stretched, sang herself a lullaby, and even stood on her hands…nothing worked. Hermione sat on her bed for another agonizing half hour before she decided to sneak down to the kitchens to get a glass of warm milk.

She tiptoed silently down the hall. Paranoia gripped her. Her eyes swirled in every direction; her ears strained to her the quiet footfalls of Filch, or the low purring of Mrs. Norris. Her whole body was tense. She hadn't done this kind of thing alone before. She was always with Harry or Ron, or both. She wished they were here now. Their presence and soft intakes of breath would calm her nerves.

With all that in mind, Hermione did manage to arrive in the dungeons without incident. She darted for the closest wall and slid along it, eyes and ears as alert as ever. Her insensitive human ears quivered. Wishing that she were a bat, Hermione made herself as small as possible, hoping that she camouflaged nicely into the wall, just in case.

BAM!

The sound shook the torches in their stands on the walls. Hermione froze, her heart thundered. It sounded as if it was going to break out from behind her ribs. She took a deep breath trying to calm herself, while exerting her ears, trying to catch any other sounds that may follow. More than ever, she wished she had a bat's echolocation, so that she may trace the source of the sound, find out that it's far away, having absolutely nothing at all to do with her being out of bed after dark and allow herself a peace of mind.

Nothing.

The silence became unbearably deafening. Hermione crept forward and turned the corner. A carpet of dim candlelight spilt out in front of her. Hermione started. She looked up.

Oh.

Snape's office.

At this point, Hermione was ready to give up and go back to bed, but her devil-given curiosity got the better of her. She struggled to move her legs to retreat back to the Gryffindor Tower, but they had stopped listening to her. As if by their own will, her legs carried her forward, stopping just short of the closed door's hinge. Hermione leant forward, careful that her feet didn't block the light escaping from under the door and pressed her ear to the door's crack just in time to catch a muffled shout.

"How_ dare _you lead werewolves into the school grounds?_ Do you have any idea_ what those _monsters _are capable of?"

Yep, it's Snape.

An amused cough answered the livid professor. Hermione's heart felt a chill. Draco Malfoy. It had to be him. Who else has the nerve to defy the Potions Master?

"If I wasn't mistaken, sir," the boy's voice rang out, "you were in the Forbidden Forest tonight because you were investigating a suspicious affair of your students."

"_What_?"

"You said so yourself, sir, that you were investigation a suspicious affair," Draco repeated patiently. "So, you must have had _some_ inkling about the werewolves tonight."

There was a pause. Hermione held her breath, secretly acknowledging that this pause's only significance is that Draco Malfoy had hit a nerve. Touché, she thought.

"That is _beside _the point!" Snape exploded. To her surprise, Hermione heard Malfoy chortle.

"No, it's not." Hermione could hear the infuriating grin in Draco's voice as he spoke, "Would you care to explain, _Professor_, why you were in the Forest in the first place?"

"I can ask you the same question, boy." Snape hissed.

Draco laughed, "No, you can't. Because I asked you first."

Hermione could almost see the startled fury on Snape face at this moment. She leant back from the door crack, rubbing her now numb back.

"When you are ready to answer me, Professor," she heard Draco say cynically, "you will receive my answer in return. Goodnight."

Hermione realized in horror that the meeting had finished. Draco was now making for the door. Her muscles froze, and she stood there, statue-like, as the doorknob turned.

Draco's smile dropped from his face the moment he was out the door; a scowl took its place. He swore under his breath and vowed to reprimand the Potions Master in the cruelest and most inhumane way with the first opportunity he gets.

He stepped out into the hall, and sighed as the cool dungeon air washed over his skin, erasing all traces of the humid, incensed air of his Head of House's office. His eyes looked up by instinct as his left hand reached behind him to shut the office door.

His heart skipped a beat, his palms went clammy and new sweat glistened down his back. To his astonishment, his body moved naturally, never hesitating. The door closed with a _click_ behind him.

He smiled.

The Head Girl returned his silent greeting with a look that was some kind of a mixture of horror, embarrassment and guilt. Draco's stomach tightened. He silently and gently grasped her arm, his eyes automatically sweeping her bed-clothed body, lingering at places. He felt her blush. He steered her further down the hall to where a set of short marble stairs meet the first floor landing.

"Why thank you for waiting, Miss Granger." He said lightly, his hand casually left her arm and resettled between her shoulder blades.

"I wasn't waiting for you," Hermione sniffed, her tone cool and aloof. Only her flushed face gave away how she really felt. Draco stole a sideward glance at her and leant closer.

"Well thank you anyways," He whispered in her ear. He felt her shiver. His hand slipped lower down her back, heart hammering in his chest. He was surprised that she didn't hear it beating at all.

She looked up at him, defiance written clearly in her eyes. "I don't _need_ your gratitude," She sneered.

He smiled. "Of course…but you want it all the same. In receiving my gratitude your self-esteem and pride had been boosted. You are wishing now that someone, preferably the whole school, was here to hear this conversation, because then you would be recognized as a girl worth taking notice of because of your association with me. Your reputation will climb the ladder of popularity, breaking the already established status quo. It's called fame by association, and that's what you're after, fame."

"In your dreams, _Malfoy_!" Hermione snarled, tone dripping with contempt.

Draco didn't hear her. He barely heard his own little monologue. He was concentrating on something else. He glanced back to his hand, which was now resting on Hermione Granger's lower back. The pit of his stomach lurched as his mind played corrupt images of her. His eyes were now lingering on her chest, watching as she breathed, in and out. She was gorgeous in every single way. He felt lowly and unworthy. He sighed.

"I give up," He murmured.

Hermione raised one delicate eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"

Draco shook his head. He leant towards her; his nose brushing past her silky locks and inhaling the scent of freshly picked roses. He felt her stiffen. She was distracted. His hand dropped further while his other arm curled around her.

He breathed in, and then exhaled, his breath stroked her ear. He watched the goose bumps rise from her china skin. His curled arm completed its course and grasped her about the waist. He hugged her to his chest.

Hermione's eyes widened as she was pulled into him. The first thing she noticed was the hardness of his Quidditch toned body, the second thing was how well she fit into him (like puzzle pieces), and the third was the thuds of his thrashing heart. It sounded as if he had just ran a marathon.

His unease soothed her. She squirmed in his arms.

"What are you doing?" She squealed, writhing.

"By your definition or mine?" He asked quietly.

Hermione stopped moving for a short while as she thought. "What are you talking about?"

"You asked what I was doing. I don't know if you wanted to know how _I_ define my actions or how I believe _you_ would define my actions or–"

"Shut up." Hermione shook her head and caught herself smiling. The racing heart, the nonsense he was spewing from his mouth…they're all signs of his nervousness, (he _is_ only human). The fact that she made him nervous gave Hermione a newfound feeling of power. She no longer felt as if he controlled her.

Since the beginning of this school year, he had shocked her, hurt her, confused her and angered her, all for his own amusement. Two can play at that game, Hermione thought.

And she would step out of her comfort bubble and test his limits, turn the table and play_ him _like a puppet. She would…if she wasn't so damn distracted right now. She didn't know what to do with herself.

Her instinct forgot to tell her to push him away as she constantly reminded herself that he wasn't _really_ Draco Malfoy, that he wasn't really the bastard son of a bitch who tormented her and her friends all throughout the beginning years of their complex teenage years.

She sighed.

"Who _are_ you?" She whispered quietly.

His body stiffened and he leant away from her. His eyes flashed their warnings. "What do you mean?" He sneered, suddenly snapped out of his trance. He's returned to his pretenses, back to his acting.

She looked up at him, and saw not Draco Malfoy, but a wretched little boy who was torn between living his own life and living that of another's. Hermione felt pity, sorrow and the deepest feeling of endearment. In her mind, she quietly promised him what she knew he deserved, as a human and as a boy – freedom. She will unshackle his chains of lies and deceit; she will liberate this boy from this shell, which he holds so dearly. She _will_.

With her mind made up she turned from him and ran.

The moment her warm presence left him cold, Draco regretted his mistrust of her. His arm rose, trying to draw her back as opened his mouth to call her name. His throat became parched and no sound came, his arm became lead and only wobbled feebly by his side.

That night, when he had returned to his bed, Draco cried.

---

To the greenhouses the students tread. A thin layer of early December frost blanketed the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione's ankle boots broke the glittering white blanket with a satisfying crunch. She narrowed her eyes against the sunlight reflected off the mirror ground and looked up at the group of gathered students further in the field before the Forbidden Forest. She wondered what class that was. She searched for familiar faces. Her heart skipped a beat. It was the seventh year Care of Magical Creatures class of Slytherins and Ravenclaws.

In the core of the group stood the listless figure of the Slytherin Prince, surrounded by his cronies. Hermione peeled her gaze away from her and scanned the rest of the gathered group. She couldn't find the boy she was looking for. Pouting slightly, she watched the hulking figure of Hagrid, leading a gleaming white horse-like creature behind him. For once exciting second, Hermione thought it was a unicorn, but as it closed, she recognized it to be a Thestral. She had never seen one in that color.

Straining her ears, Hermione heard Hagrid's voice rumble the word "albino". An albino Thestral…how absolutely electrifying! Hermione watched, mesmerized by the beauty of the creature, as Hagrid called for volunteers; only one hand rose above the pond of heads.

It was Draco Malfoy.

Hermione took pride in the fact that she was probably the only one present who can see him as who he _really_ is. She scrutinized him – the boy she has never known before in her life, the boy who has a romantic interest in _her_. It was like seeing a whole new being. She stood awed. She watched as the boy stroke the Thestral's head, whispering to it. She watched as he rubbed its neck, buying its trust. And she watched as he mounted it, saddle-less, with one smooth leaping motion.

Upon the Thestral, Draco Malfoy was indeed _the_ definition of knight on white horse.

Her knight.

Hermione felt a tingle in her abdomen. She shuddered and shook her head. She turned and ran to catch up with the rest of her class.

Sitting astride on the Thestral, Draco dared himself to steal a glance at her. Too late, she was gone. That's so like her, appearing and disappearing like some overseeing angel, waiting until he needed her most.

He caught sight of her class, single file and heading in the direction of the greenhouses. He didn't see her among the flowing river of students at first. The second time he looked she was standing right here, staring, and her class nowhere in sight. Caught off guard, Draco's eyes snapped to the ground, face burning. Was she looking for him? It was too much to hope for.

The volunteering, the jump mount…all attempts to catch her attention (the jump mount especially). He was almost sure it didn't work. Her distant face betrayed no awe, no recognition, and no love. It was the first time in a long time that he felt hurt (emotionally and physically – physically from the jump mount, he landed quite hard on his…yeah).

Draco sighed as he dismounted, awkwardly and clumsily, embarrassed. He blinked anger from his eyes and decided to focus on the mission on hand. He had wasted enough time as is. Beware, Albus Dumbledore, beware, Headmaster of Hogwarts. Your doom is soon.

---

"To do this I need your full cooperation," Hermione announced, sliding forward two pieces of parchment. "When I say full cooperation I mean I get the truth – only the truth and nothing _but_ the truth. In the same way, I swear, by this contract, that I will use no information you give me to do you, or the side of which your loyalty lies, harm." She finished and took a deep breath, satisfied. "Understood?"

Theodore Nott frowned, "No, not quite." He unfolded his legs and leant forward, "What is the purpose of me signing this contract? We can just make the Unbreakable Vow – so much more convenient and reliable."

Hermione looked taken aback. She hadn't thought of the Unbreakable Vow. She secretly pinched herself under the table, blaming herself for not thinking of it first. She was at a lost of what to say. "But…but, it took me all of last night to come up with this," She frowned, glaring at the contract in front of her.

Theodore Nott smiled and shook his head. He produced an inked quill from virtually nowhere and signed his lavish signature at the contract's bottom, beside that of Hermione's.

"There," He grinned amusedly, "happy?"

Hermione nodded and flushed pink.

Theodore leant back in his seat and smiled. "So what information do you have that made you change your mind?" He asked curiously.

Hermione drew forth a very thick book. Theodore examined it, "_Anomalous_ _Magical Maladies and Cures_," He read. Unimpressed, he looked up with a raised eyebrow. "So?"

Hermione flipped the book open to the middle; its heavy cover landed with a thunk. Her eyes quickly scanned the page and picked out a passage. She read, "But neither the Polyjuice Potion, nor Rousseau's Disease can fully transform one man into another. The Muggle theory of the Multiple Personality Disorder – a mental state that allows one man to have more than one 'personality' – is more likely in this case. The wizards' analysis of this Muggle disorder unveiled that it is less of an ailment, and more of a curse. A dead soul, classified as neither ghosts nor sprites, possesses a body (usually of a relation or beloved) in attempt to bind itself to this world due to emotional or mental dissatisfaction. German wizard Schellingian named the curse after his second wife, Greta, calling it the Gretain Curse.

"Amongst the symptoms frequently confused with the ones of Gretain Curse, almost all apply to one branch of transfiguration discovered by the dark wizard Faust in the 1500s – _Körper_–_austausch_. The only differences are that with the Gretain Curse the soul is free to leave the body as it wishes, but with Körper–austausch, the soul is bound to the body by an outside force, and in the Gretain Curse, a recorded number of twenty-three souls were known to dwell in the same body, but to perform Körper–austausch, the host body has to be free of any souls."

Hermione finished breathless and excited. Theodore sat unmoving, like a beautiful sculpture, carved onto the wooden chair upon which he sat.

"You want know more about this dark magic?" He asked quietly. Hermione nodded. "I searched everywhere, in the school, in Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, but I couldn't find _anything_. I'm sure you'd have a way to find something."

Theodore frowned and remained silent. He eyed his partner carefully.

It was obvious that he was weighing his options. His revelation of the elements of this spell may just give away too much. If he doesn't, he'll never find the proof behind his theory about Draco. Theodore took him time and pondered. It was no challenge, getting this information, but what if the girl had other purposes in mind? She_ is_ a Gryffindor, Theodore reminded himself. There isn't any way that she'd betray him now that he agreed to her contract. Her innocence, sense of justice and naivety wouldn't allow her to do so. Still…Theodore's eyes wandered up to the ceiling. He was willing to do anything to have his proof, but now that he has to walk his talk, he wasn't so sure this was a good idea anymore.

Hermione sat across from him, fidgeting with everything in reach. She prayed to everything that was good in this realm to convince this Death-Eater-In-the-Making to say yes to her proposal in wanting to learn more about an evil branch of dark magic. Life is ironic indeed.

"Fine," He finally agreed. "I'll meet you back here in one week's time." He rose from his seat, grabbed his school robes off his chair's back and quickly strode away. Hermione closed her eyes in relief and smiled, so close, but (at the same time), so far.

---

* * *

**A/N:**

Yes, both Draco and Hermione can see Thestrals.

Now be supportive and loving and submit a review.

Thank you.

* * *


	9. VIII

**COUNTERFEIT  
**

* * *

**VIII**

Theodore Nott sat back in his vine green armchair. His normally electric eyes were dull and dead, his hunched shoulders and hanged head was a posture of defeat. A red-bound book was in his lap.

His empty eyes drilled a hole into the book. He shook, with anger, pain and fear. He had risked more than his life to learn what he knew now. He thought it was worth it. It wasn't. He sat as a dead man. His mind was voluntarily shut down, and his spirit died along with his dim ray of hope. The Death Eaters would take him to a place unknown. He would be punished, tortured and die a horrible death.

His lips curved into a slight grin. The sweet release of death – that was his only ambition now.

But before that, he has one last task to do.

The tiniest of all sparks crept into his eyes. His relaxed muscles tightened. He groaned silently as the crushing weight of the physical world descended upon him again. He picked up the red book and got to his feet. He crossed the common room in quick strides. Dawn's warm lights rose from their dark nest and boldly sprinted across the grey sky outside. Theodore climbed out of the portrait hole.

---

"What is this?"

"_Sammlung von Perioden_, written by the wizard Faust."

Hermione gasped, "_Faust_? The father of all dark magic?"

Theodore Nott sneered. "Is that what they taught you? Alright then, I'll go with that."

"But…where did you get _this_?" Hermione shrieked, turning it over in her hands. She flipped open the front cover. Theodore shrugged, "My father's."

Hermione's hands froze. She looked up from the book, her glare icy. She smiled bitterly and showed Theodore the name written in book's the inside cover. "Was your father's name T.M. Riddle?" She asked airily.

Theodore's eyes locked onto hers. Oops. He clicked his tongue. "Does it matter who it belonged to?" He sighed impatiently. "The point is that you have your information and I'm off the hook. So abide your side of the contract and keep this to yourself. Good day."

Hermione stared as he strolled away. She looked down at the book, then up again.

"Wait!" She called, running after him, her book bag and cloak pounded against her legs. Theodore stopped and turned back to her. She arrived beside him, breathless and hunched over. "Don't…you…want to know…what happened…to…to…Malfoy…?" She managed to gasp between wheezes.

Theodore scrunched up his perfect nose. "I already know." His voice became a whisper, "He's burning in hell as we speak."

Hermione looked up, startled. "What?"

Theodore looked down at her young, vibrant face with its millions of expressions and her cherry lips, sprouting the aromas of intellect and clarity etched into her mind. It'd be a waste to watch her wither and die with the truth. He let out a deep breath. He was a dead man, might as well do something good and hope for a chance of redemption. He hated the thought of spending an eternity with the late Draco Malfoy in the deepest chasm of the furious lair of the root of all evil.

"This…new _Malfoy_ loves you," Theodore's words came out strangled. He paused to gather his thoughts and tried again, "I think you two are meant to be. You're _soul mates_. Don't look so surprised, Granger. You're interested in him. And he's crazy for you. You have every right to be together. Give him a chance. He's nothing like the bastard you had known before. Admit it, you know he had changed – don't argue with me Granger, you know it. Here's my advice…be secret and subtle and if, _God-forbid_, it doesn't work out – which wont happen – you'll both be saved from the humiliation and can carry on where you left off. What have you got to loose? Give him a chance, give yourself a chance, and let him love you."

With that, the cinnamon haired angel disappeared out the door.

Hermione stood alone, silent and confused. But the five little words that echoed around her head spoke to her in a way she herself didn't know of. _Give yourself a chance_, the boy had said. The way Nott put it, it's more possible than she had ever imagined.

What will she do?

For the moment being, Hermione had decided to return to the Gryffindor Tower to think things through thoroughly, and maybe distract herself with a game of Exploding Snap or her Advanced Potions homework. She shouldered her bag and headed out the library doors.

Deep, deep, deep, _deep_ down inside (so deep inside and hidden behind so many false illusions and conflicting emotions that she was not consciously aware of this belief), Hermione _whole-heartedly_ believed that this Draco Malfoy before her is someone totally new: someone who could love her and _maybe_ be loved by her in return…possibly. But unbeknownst to her, Hermione's overprotective subconscious had fiddled with her conscious mind. It decided – all by its lonesome – that it would shield Hermione's conscious mind from the truths of her own feelings. And because of this, Hermione found that she couldn't accept the fact that _Draco Malfoy_ loved her. She couldn't put Malfoy's face on a boy who had a romantic interest in her. She couldn't see herself with him. She _wouldn't_ see herself with him.

At that moment, Hermione felt as if she was tore into two. One was the Angry Hermione, still holding grudges against the little ferret prat who caused her so much pain and headache throughout her childhood, and the other was the Needy Hermione, craving forbidden romance and attention, representing all that Hermione had wanted and desired.

Angry Hermione was full of reason and logic. "You cannot love someone if you don't know who he is," she argued.

"Sure you can," Needy Hermione shot back, tossing her hair, "You can do anything you _really_ want to."

"Wants come second to needs," Angry Hermione retorted, "this was the motto we've been living with for seventeen years!"

"Yes, sure," Needy Hermione replied casually, "That's why we need to switch it up a little. Variety is good. Change is good. And Malfoy is…well…too damn sexy to live."

Angry Hermione gasped in outrage. "You can't think that, Hermione!" She hissed. Needy Hermione shook her head slowly. "Don't listen to her, Hermione," she said, "You think that about him all the time. I know because I was there in your mind when you thought so. I was there when you got the butterflies by staring at his hair…his moonlight-silver hair: the hair you wanted to rake your fingers through so badly…"

Hermione shook her head. Holy shit. She was talking to herself…via two imagined little mini-hers on her shoulders whispering into her ears.

"Hermione had a stomach flu that day," she heard Angry Hermione explain, "Her butterflies were because of the flu, not _Malfoy_."

Hermione's heart skipped a beat.

"Ha!" Shouted Needy Hermione, "Hear that? You said _his_ name and her heart picked up speed."

"She's climbing up stairs, obviously her heart rate is gaining speed," Angry Hermione pouted.

Hermione shook her head and took a deep breath. She was in front of the Fat Lady. Needy Hermione blew into Hermione's ear. "It's not too late, you know," she whispered playfully, "The last Hogsmeade weekend of this year is coming up before the Christmas break. _He'll_ be there…"

Hermione's muscles tensed as she remembered his arms around her, his warm embrace. She shuddered as she entered the Gryffindor Common Room, and blamed it on the coldness of the Tower even though the Common Room was at least a degree warmer than the hallways. Angry Hermione scowled. She twirled in her spot on Hermione's shoulder and disappeared.

"Ron," Hermione suddenly heard herself say. "Do you want to grab a drink with me next Hogsmeade weekend?"

Both Ron and Harry looked up from where they sat by the fire, playing chess. Ron looked surprised and Harry's face split into a wide smile.

Hermione managed to turn her grimace into a smile back at Harry. It felt as if her words scraped had deep welts along her throat as they tumbled out. She stood there sweating bullets, willing him to say no.

"Of course!" Ron stood hastily, tipping the chessboard over and spilling the protesting chessmen onto the carpeted floor. "Um…Madam Puddifoot's at a quarter to one?"

Hermione nodded silently in return. She though she heard Angry Hermione reappear on her shoulder, grinning broadly. "See? Now there's no worry that you'd run into Malfoy. Or at least you'll be with Ron."

Needy Hermione twisted her face into a fierce scowl of fury. She sputtered but said nothing comprehensible. After a fit of screaming rage she, like Angry Hermione had done moments before, twirled and disappeared. Her counterpart followed, still grinning.

Hermione felt the weight of her decision crushing her shoulders. She trudged up the stairs to the Head Girl room. She collapsed onto her bed and fell asleep the moment her head touched her pillow. She had unintentionally waged war on herself. From here, she would fight: head versus heart, wants versus needs, and fantasy versus reality.

---

Hogsmeade! A happy and magical village nestled in the depth of blissful isolation from the rest of the world, in which now strolls many young sorcerers who will go on to perform the unimaginable in the near future – Draco Malfoy, among them. Only he wasn't strolling or blissful. He was pumped full of adrenaline and racing down the dirt pathways.

He saw them seconds ago. They were heading down this road…and they were holding hands. It's not like he's never seen them hold hands before. He had, and he also had interfered, polyjuiced as Neville Longbottom. But this time it was different. _Her_ attitude was different.

There! He could see them now…heading into…Puddifoot's? _Oh my God_.

They're sitting down…they're ordered a drink…_he's smiling at her_…_AND SHE'S SMILING BACK_!

Draco's heart thundered, pounding against his ribs, threatening to tear out of his chest. He flipped up his cloak collars and entered the little cozy café. With his head down, Draco headed straight for the restrooms. In the narrow hallway where the doors to the facilities stood, his brain seemed to have regain control over his body. He leant against the wall and took deep breaths, trying to calm himself. They're friends, nothing more, he tried to tell himself. But he couldn't help but feel as if he needed to take that redheaded asshole by the ear, punch him to the ground, stab him a couple times, do the Cruciatus for an hour or two, then lock the moron up and laugh as he starves to death.

Draco shook his head. He'll just go out there and act as if he was so wonderfully surprised to see them, then join their little tea party and crash the whole thing. Okay. That'll work. Draco heaved off the wall and headed back to the café. He looked around the corner and froze. His head snapped back so fast that he was surprised that he didn't suffer a whiplash.

_She_'s coming to the restrooms. _Crap_! Draco spun on his heels and entered the first door he saw. As the door slammed shut he sat down with a flop onto the tiled floor.

It was cold.

Draco looked up.

There aren't any urinals.

_He's in the ladies restroom_!

The door opened behind him. He sprang up and, without thinking, disappeared into the nearest stall. A familiar sigh reached Draco's ears, followed by waster splashing against the porcelain sinks. Draco lifted his feet from the floor onto the toilet seat, and allowed the stall door to open slightly. From outside, it would seem that the stall was empty.

The restroom door opened once again and another set of footsteps entered.

"Hermione!" the newcomer greeted. Draco's heart tightened. He extended his neck to see through the crack of the ajar door of his stall.

"Hello, Lavender," Hermione smiled back, reaching for a towel to dry her hands.

"You're here with Ron?" Lavender Brown asked casually as she pulled out her lipstick. Hermione nodded curtly, and Draco choked on air. "Yeah," Lavender continued, "he's a nice guy."

"He is," Hermione agreed. Draco told himself that she sounded forced.

"Not to be mean or anything," Lavender started, "but can I tell you something about when Ron and I were going out?"

Hermione shrugged, "Go ahead."

"He was an awesome boyfriend, even though he was a little intense. I think you two will be wonderful together, though I should have seen this coming. I mean, he's been crushing on you since forever," Lavender laughed. Hermione was caught off guard, "He has?"

"Didn't you know?"

"No…well now that I think about it…"

Lavender looked suspicious. "Then why did you go out with him if you didn't think he liked you?"

Hermione shrugged, "I …"

"What do you like about him anyways?" Lavender's tone was becoming more and more offensive, not that Draco noticed. He was straining his ears to catch Hermione's response.

Hermione put down her towel and turned to face Lavender, fire burning in her eyes. "Everything," she answered confidently. Draco suddenly felt clammy. It was difficult to breath. His head swam and his vision became blurry. His heart was pounding in his ears and blood was draining from his face. His hands were shaking.

Hermione raised one eyebrow at Lavender, "Why?"

Lavender replaced her lipstick with a tube of mascara. "I don't know. It just seems…do you have another purpose in mind?"

Draco barely heard her. He was seeing black spots and his chest hurt. He thought he might have hit something hard, but he couldn't remember what. He saw Hermione smile. It was sudden, and frankly, quite scary. "Another purpose for what?" she asked between her teeth.

"For dating Ron," Lavender smiled back, daggers hidden in her gaze.

"No," Hermione shook her head in affirmation. "It's just that…some recent events have got me thinking about Ron and I. I've discovered that we are very much in love."

Draco's knee gave out beneath him and he fell into a sitting position. His joints felt numb and he began to sweat. The black spots in his vision were getting bigger and bigger. He tried to move his hands to his aching chest, but they were leaden and heavy. His breath came in short gasps and anxiety washed over him.

"Are you _really_?" Lavender challenged. Hermione narrowed her eyes and headed for the door, "Yes," she answered over her shoulder, "I love Ron very much." And she was gone. Moments later, Lavender followed.

Draco reached for the stall's door handle and pulled himself up. His vision was still blotchy but his chest pains lessened. He felt numb as he staggered to the restroom door and stumbled out. He blinked in the glare of the café's lighting. His eyes focused on a chocolate haired girl leaning down. She was leaning down toward another guy.

The café suddenly became very quiet. The only sound Draco could hear was his own heartbeat.

Hermione's lips brushed Ron's. Draco felt light headed.

_So this is rejection._

Ron's hand reached up to cup Hermione's face as he returned her kiss. Draco's eyes were locked onto their lips. There was a burn in his heart and his muscles knotted up as the chest pain returned.

_So this is hurt._

She pulled back and beckoned the redhead to stand. She entwined her arm around his and they headed for the café's exit. Somewhere in the seated crowd Lavender said, "Congratulations, Ron." And the couple was gone.

The café buzzed into life with the aftermath gossip of the event. Draco's legs somehow managed to carry him to the door of the café. _Ron and I are very much in love_. He stared out the foggy glass at the silhouette of two figures disappearing into the quickly descending night. _I love Ron._ A sudden headache rocked his head, spreading from his forehead back. _Congratulations. _His hand went to his throat. It felt as if his throat closed. _Their lips, touching, caressing. _A wave of nausea hit him and he struggled just to breath. From somewhere outside of his vision, Draco thought he heard someone call his name in warning. But he paid no attention. Sweat was raining down on him and now it felt as if the weight of the entire Gryffindor tower was crushing his chest. Draco swayed on his feet. _I love Ron_. _I love Ron. I don't love you. I love Ron. You will never be good enough for me. I love Ron. You are tainted. You are evil. I love Ron. I love Ron. I love Ron. I love Ron. I love Ron. I love Ron_… Blood was rushing to everywhere but his brain. Draco's knees gave out one last time and he saw nothing but black.

---

That bitch, Lavender Brown. Hermione kicked the snow with her boots. Her arm strayed from Ron's. Hermione smiled bitterly. Wouldn't Malfoy laugh if he saw her today, she thought, getting so worked up over something some idiot said. She looked up at the golden clouds in the baby pink sky.

Wouldn't he laugh?

---

* * *

**A/N:**

Short chapter, I know. But I promise, it only gets better from here.  
Sorry for the delay, by the way. I was getting off task and a bit preoccupied.

I'll promise to hurry with the next update if you review. Please and thank you.

* * *


	10. IX

**COUNTERFEIT  
**

* * *

**IX**

Draco entered the drawing room silently. The soft armchairs before him were squatted low to the thickly carpeted floor. The curtains to the room were wide open and sunlight spilt in, yet there was a mood of foreboding darkness. In one of the more colourful armchairs sat the hulking figure of the source of this dreariness. Draco felt a lump form in his throat.

"Father," Draco nodded in acknowledgement as he plopped himself down in the vacant seat facing Lucius Malfoy. He caught entirely off guard when the elder Malfoy directed toward him a seething glare that only spelt disgust and resentment.

"You have permission to cease addressing me as such," Lucius replied icily. Draco cleared his throat quietly, but that imaginary lump seemed to have gotten larger. "…Mr. Malfoy," Draco corrected himself. Lucius let out a sniff of mild satisfaction.

Draco's head buzzed with screeches of warning. The distraught and bent-double Lucius Malfoy Draco remembered from before he left for Hogwarts was nothing more than a fading memory now. The Lucius Malfoy that sat before him today was tall and demanding, his infamous glower scorching Draco for the first time. How Draco wished he was still snug and cozy in his pretty white cot back in the Hospital Wing like he was barely five minutes ago.

Apparently, in Hogsmeade the day before, Draco had subsided into a dead faint and fell through the glass door of Madame Puddifoot's. Two Slytherin fifth years who were present were responsible for bringing Madame Pomfrey to the scene. The lovesick boy's body was sheath to many shards of sharp glass, but thanks to the talents of the school nurse he was returned to the state he was in before the accident in the time span of mere two hours, however he remained unconscious for the rest of that day and most of the next too.

Madame Pomfrey dragged the poor boy out of bed the moment he opened his lovely silver eyes this morning. The medi-witch muttered something about emotional distress being out of her expertise ("I heal broken arms, not hearts.") and kicked Draco out of the Hospital Wing with three pitiless words: "Teachers' lounge, _now_!"

Once in the teacher's lounge, Draco (still bleary-eyed and sleep-tousled) was informed that his father was waiting for him in the drawing room beyond the connecting door. Lucius Malfoy was in Hogwarts. Draco was terrified into a headache. He was in for it, and he knew. He was long conscious of the fact that the moment the man got over the death of his real son his venomous anger and malice would be placed upon the unfortunate soul that took his son's place, making that moment the moment of _this_ Draco Malfoy's death.

As much as he didn't want to, here this counterfeit Draco sat, facing his worst nightmare who doesn't appear to be quite done with him yet. "Your…_setback_," Lucius stated the word as if it meant nothing to him, "has been corrected?"

Draco discreetly rolled his eyes as Lucius scanned him for telltale scars and bruises, but of course – there were none. The boy didn't even bother to keep the displeasure from his voice, "_I _have fully _recovered_, thank you."

Lucius pointedly ignored Draco's tone and continued, "_He_ is not pleased with this pace you have set."

Draco deliberately flashed the notorious sneer his body's former occupant was so fond of. He took note of the fire that suddenly sprang into Lucius's eyes, sparked by his simple expression. "_He_ is also not pleased with your brush with the Ministry recently."

Lucius's nostrils flared in anger. "_That_," he spat between his gritted teeth, "is no concern of _yours_."

"Is it not?" Draco asked, feigning ignorance. "Should you reveal this premature plot _my_ life would be a risk."

Lucius forcedly allowed himself a cold smile. "If you didn't take your sweet time, a little preview would not be so dangerous."

"I am trying my best," Draco said airily. It was an outright lie, of course, and he felt as guilty as a dead prostitute outside the gates of heaven. Lucius seemed to have a nose for guilt. "Then tell me," he persisted, "how much time did you put into the preparation?"

"Lost count," Draco said quickly, and coughed. The lies were pouring out shamelessly now, and Lucius knew it. "And you still don't have everything ready?" he smirked, "Clearly your best isn't enough."

Draco's sneer froze. His eyes hinted menace. "Yet somehow…" he paused, meeting Lucius's glare, "I've gotten further in four months than your deceased son could have _ever_ gone."

Lucius's robes swirled about him as he shot up from his seat. "_Watch your mouth_, _boy_," he hissed slowly. He picked up the snakehead staff by his side and turned to leave. Draco watched him, tensing as he stopped at the door. "By the way, your _mother_ wishes you to return home for Christmas," Lucius said carelessly over his shoulder.

Reluctance tugged at Draco's heartstrings, but he brushed the feeling off with reminders of his heartache the day before. He smiled brightly. "Then I'd be happy to comply," he replied with a little too much enthusiasm. "Good day, Mr. Malfoy."

Lucius exited the room without another word, but was immediately abducted by a hook nosed hawk that was prowling nearby (a.k.a. taking a break in the teacher's lounge). The hawk took the unfortunate Malfoy to his subterranean lair – the empty (or so they thought) potions classroom in the dungeons.

Lucius Malfoy wrestled his arm from the Potions Master's iron talons in annoyance and proceeded to brush off his velvet robes. "What _is_ it, Severus?"

Severus Snape cast a suspicious glance around the empty room and whispered, "I do believe there is something seriously amiss with Draco."

Lucius looked up, startled. The Potions Master was straight-faced and deadly solemn. Lucius smirked bitterly. "And what makes you think that?" He asked. Snape retold his encounter with Draco at the start-of-term-feast and in the Forbidden Forest.

Lucius blinked. "That's it?" He said raising one eyebrow. When Snape made no reply, the Malfoy sighed. "You're angry because a seventeen-year-old _boy_ schooled you four months ago? If that's all you have to say, Severus, then I really must–"

"No!" Severus Snape gasped in frustration. "See? This is exactly what I mean. Since when did you start calling your legal son a _boy_?"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Severus–"

"And since _when_ was the word 'schooled' in your vocabulary?" Snape persisted.

Lucius's nostrils flared in anger. "Listen here," he hissed. "One, I would _never_ degrade my son; two, my vocabulary–"

"_Lucius_!"

The Malfoy was bribing his time, and Snape knew it. The Potions Master's intentions were sincere, and he made it clear enough for it to be impossible to go unnoticed. Lucius Malfoy had no excuse. He sighed. "Severus…what did you do after that night in the Forest?"

"I took to observance," Snape replied briskly. Lucius couldn't help but sense that the other man was proud of his decision. It was time for false encouragement.

"Good," Lucius nodded in acknowledgement and patted Snape on the shoulder. "Keep doing that and maybe you'll get somewhere." With that and a swirl of heavy robes, Lucius Malfoy was out the door. Snape was caught so off guard by the sudden warmth expelled from the velvet clad lump of ice that he stood rooted to the spot.

"Wait…" He looked around, slowly escaping his trance. "Wha– Lucius. _Lucius_! _Luci_–"

---

Theodore Nott waited until the Potions Master had put a good distance between himself and the potions classroom before he could breathe normally again. What wrath he would have endured if he were caught, he dared not to imagine. He looked down at the crumpled bag of aloe he clutched in his shaking hands and let out a deep breath of remorse. His disappearance would have to wait. He still had business to take care off.

He carefully poked his head out from behind the ajar door of the cupboard and took a survey off the room. He made sure no one was passing by the open classroom door from which the Potions Master had sprinted from in pursuit of Lucius Malfoy. Then Theodore slowly unfolded himself out of the confinement of the cupboard.

---

Albus Dumbledore had a habit. He liked to lick his finger every time he turned the pages of a book. It was a common habit amongst many people, so Draco didn't think much of it at first. It was his third day hiding in the Headmaster's office for a little of what he called "surveillance work". A philosopher from the East once said: to conquer one's enemy, one must know the enemy. And that's exactly what Draco was doing. He was getting to know his enemy.

His enemy is sitting with his back to him, licking his finger and turning the pages of a sizeable book, sometimes chuckling as he did so. Draco found the Headmaster's blissful and childish behaviors unnerving. The chuckling, the humming, and (some odd times) the dancing were really getting on his nerves. His patience was stretched thinner than the thinnest kind of paper, and no wonder. He has been standing, squished between the towering bookcase and the wall for four hours now. As if that wasn't enough, the Headmaster seemed to like leaning on the rickety bookshelf as he searched for books, making the delicately carved shelves press into Draco's already sore chest, knees, forehead and that one manly part.

But finally, Draco saw his angle. Here he can attack and conquer silently and stealthily. No one would ever guess. It was so simple yet so complicatedly hidden that it was brilliant. Today his work was done. To hell with Lucius Malfoy and his empty threats.

---

The third and last day of Draco's surveillance work happened to also be the last day of school before the winter holidays. For Draco, it was impossible not to look forward to his escape from the madness that was this school, yet he felt a little bit of regret and a little bit of nostalgia for this big clumsy castle and all of its dusty cobwebs. If Dumbledore was gone, this place would become a dump.

Draco trekked silently through a thick wall of snow-covered undergrowth near Hagrid's cabin. He had intended to visit the Forbidden Forest and sit upon that tree where the werewolves prowled underneath the skirt of a lovely damsel in distress, whom he had saved. She was within his reach then. And now he wondered what he had done with all the time he had to woo her and make her his.

The poor lovesick boy paused. His chest hurt again. Ignoring the stinging throbs, he continued on his way. A flash of colorful lights fluttered by the corners of his vision. Draco looked up in surprise. The lights illuminated the now empty pumpkin patch beside Hagrid's hut. On Draco's lips tugged a small smile – faerie lights, a rare sight to behold indeed. He changed his course and headed toward the pumpkin patch instead.

By the time Draco reached the hut the lights had disappeared. So he found a good hard surface to sit on and waited patiently for them to reappear like he knew they would. Everything was so deafening silent. Draco looked around uneasily. _Crunch_. He froze. A footstep in the snow. _Crunch_. _Crunch_. There it was again. Draco slowly rose from where he sat. The footsteps were light and quiet, so they couldn't possibly be the half-giant Hagrid's. Draco leant forward slightly and slowly, peeking around the corner of the hut to the empty lot behind the cabin. He almost leapt for joy. He sprang around the hut with two large strides and threw himself on his unfortunate victim.

Hermione Granger barely had time to scream before Draco's hand was across her mouth. "Shh…" He whispered, "I need to talk to you."

Hermione wiggled and struggled but couldn't free herself from his grasp. Her back was pressed against his chest, his right arm around her waist, his left hand released her face to grasp her around the shoulder. She stood there fuming, heart still pounding madly, and blushing as he lay his chin on her shoulder.

"Let go of me," she demanded slowly, out of breath. She felt him shake his head. She rolled her eyes, what a childish thing for him to do. "Can't we talk somewhere else?" She tried again. He lifted his head from her shoulder. "No," he whispered stubbornly into her left ear. "Listen to me. That redhead…he's your…" Hermione heard him gulp. There was a pause, then, "he's your boyfriend?"

Hermione didn't even stop to think. "Yes," she replied immediately, sounding forced to herself. Through the back of her thick winter cloak, Hermione could feel the boy's heartbeat quicken. She was immediately dunked into a sea of regret.

Draco let go of her and took a step back. That one word…it hurt. It hurt so much. She didn't move. Draco walked around her until they stood face to face. He took a deep shaking breath. "And you're happy? You've settled for _that_?" He whispered.

If Hermione had been in a good mood she would have laughed, but she wasn't, so she didn't. Yet, it was so true. He hit her right on the nerve. She smiled bitterly, _bull's-eye_. But she replied, "_That_ is my best friend and _boyfriend_ you're talking about." She felt a twirl of soreness in her heart. She felt nothing now but pity. Self pity for trying to fool herself, pity for Malfoy and his heartache, and pity for poor Ron, being used and lied to.

"You didn't answer my question yet," Draco's quiet voice shook. Hermione looked up at him, meeting his eye. She smiled, "Yes, I've settled for _that_. Happy?" She sounded bitter to herself. Draco shook his head. He looked down at his feet and sighed. "_No_. The question is: are _you_ happy?"

Hermione blinked. Do you think I'm happy? She wanted to say. Do you think I'm happy, like you said, settling for _that_? But "Yes. I'm happy," was what she said instead. To her surprise, the Slytherin boy looked up smiling. "Did I hear a pause in there?" he teased. Hermione froze. Uh oh.

"A pause is not a sound," she said matter-of-factly, "You can't hear a pause."

Draco pouted, and Hermione was suddenly hit with a reality check. He wasn't actually Draco Malfoy. He's some unfortunate kid on Polyjuice potion (it's_ her_ theory anyway). With that, Hermione's wall of ice was gone. "But you've heard silence," Draco argued, "and that's not a sound either." Hermione stopped herself in mid-nod. What was she doing? Draco continued on, "But the _point_ is: you've just attempted a change in topic, which means you're trying to avoid my question. You're not happy, are you?"

Hermione stood there startled. Her mind was at a blank. How could a person who she barely knows guess her every thought? "Maybe because he_ knows_ you," Needy Hermione suggested, "He knows _exactly_ who you are. I mean, think about it, Hermione. When have you had a conversation like this with Ron Weasley? All he talks about is _garbage_. This boy here in front of you is a gem. He has a brain. Besides, he _respects_ you. Ron seems to think you're some kind of _make out machine_. How many times have you shot him down? Think about the uncomfortable times you've spent with Ron. That boy doesn't understand the meaning of personal space. You agreed to have him as a boyfriend, not as a _leech_. That's why you're here isn't it? To escape the leech?"

Needy Hermione's got a point. But Angry Hermione wasn't about to give up without a fight. "But what about this Malfoy boy?" Angry Hermione interrupted. "Isn't he a leech too? How does this child keep finding you? He's _evil_, dark magic is written all over him. Can't trust types like these. He just had you in his death grip just now, Ron would_ never _violate you like that."

"But you_ liked it_ didn't you?" Needy Hermione whispered, "Your heart wasn't pounding because you were surprised, _your heart was pounding because he was hugging you_."

Hermione scowled, at herself more than anyone else. But Draco took it as her displeasure towards him. He looked extremely upset. "You're not happy with him, yet you _still_ chose him…" he muttered to himself. He looked up at her, sincerity and seriousness etched into his eyes. He bit his lip and asked with a trembling voice, "What makes him so much better than me?"

Hermione's heart flew out to him at once. She shook her head furiously. "He's not," she said quickly, fully aware of the tears filling up the rims of her eyes. "He's not better than you," she murmured. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Hermione blushed in embarrassment and lowered her head. Draco's hand shot out and brushed it away. His naked fingers were cold against her skin, but his intentions were as warm as a pit of bonfire.

His hand lowered from her face to her waist, his other hand rose to her arm. Slowly he pulled her into his embrace. But the angry side of Hermione still had a little more venom to spill. "What do you think you're doing?" She heard herself say icily, while quietly begging him not to let go. His arms loosened for a second, but as if he had heard her mental pleas, he hugged her closer. "Cold," he muttered against her hair. Hermione shook her head. "I'm not cold," she said, and immediately regretted it.

"I know," Draco replied airily. "But I _am_."

Hermione noticed for the first time that he was only wearing a jumper. Draco hadn't bothered to fetch his cloak and mitts from his dorm earlier since he hadn't planned to stay out for so long. But now, he was trembling. Hermione's natural feminine instincts kicked in. She squeezed Draco around the waist with her arms and tugged at his jumper. "Let's go inside," she suggested. With her head on his chest, she heard his heartbeat quicken. One word popped into her mind: cute. He was cute. Hermione squirmed a little at that description. She giggled.

Draco blushed. He knew she had heard his heart pick up speed. Then she giggled. He felt such warmth spread through him when she had suggested to go inside. She had said "let's". He loosed his hold on her and looked down. She looked up at him, wondering what he was doing. "Okay," he nodded, "but first…"

Hermione saw him coming closer, she saw him close his eyes. She must have closed hers by instinct too because the next think she knew, she was seeing black, and his cold soft lips were on hers. She felt fire (the pleasant kind) burning down her throat and spreading to her shoulders. His lips embraced hers. She involuntarily opened her mouth. His tongue was warm and comforting. He sucked at her lower lip, and her tongue darted out a little to meet his. His breath was warm, and he tasted nice. It was a kind of indescribable niceness, almost like sweetness, but not quite. She couldn't feel the cold around her anymore, and her brain seemed to have shut down. He was breathing into her and she into him. It felt so nice. He was teasing and gentle. Hermione was a little irked that he seemed experienced. She pulled back and kissed the corner of his mouth, and his soft lips were on hers again.

Draco's lips were moistened by her breath and he closed his mouth to kiss her on the lips again. Her hands were on his chest, massaging him. It was probably instinctive, but it felt so awesomely loving. He wouldn't really feel her because of her cloak and all, but her heat melted his heart. He pulled back, tipped his head the other way and pressed his parted lips down on hers. She lost her balance and took a step back. Her back was pushed into the wall of Hagrid's hut. Draco's hands found her gloved ones and their fingers entwined. By reflex, Draco's knee slipped between her thighs and she groaned. Crazily aroused was pretty much how Draco felt at that moment. This world was theirs, and he loved every moment of it.

Sudden barking snapped Draco out of his trance. He pulled away from Hermione gasping. The guilty couple quickly sprang apart. The barking was getting louder and closer, accompanied by shouts of "Down, Fang, down!" Hermione's right hand unconsciously rose to her lips. It was too late to run now. The hulking silhouette of Hagrid descended upon them.

"Who's there?" Came his booming voice, and an over-friendly Fang leapt onto Draco.

* * *

**A/N:**

_First kiss_, _yay_!

When I was writing the scene in the dungeons with Snape and Malfoy Sr., the radio in my head was screaming the Potter Puppet Pals tune: Snape, Snape, Severus Snape…it was _SO_ distracting.

I wasn't aware for the longest time that anonymous reviewers were filtered by my account, but I fixed it so **please, please, please review**!

(P.S. **READ MY NEW FIC: 'RIDDLEBOOK'!**)

* * *


	11. X

**COUNTERFEIT **

* * *

**X**

"Who's there?" Came Hagrid's booming voice, and an over-friendly Fang leapt onto Draco. The boy was so startled that he fell with a thump into the snow. Hermione made a choking noise. "Uh oh," mocked Angry Hermione, "_somebody_ is going to get into _so_ much trouble. You should have listened to me."

Hermione shook her head, thinking: what a horrible time for these problematic little devils of her overly imaginative mind to show up. She stood, as if petrified, as Draco Malfoy ("Whom you were just attached at the mouth with," added Angry Hermione) managed to shove Fang off of him. The dog then came hurdling toward Hermione. Hermione didn't notice it, as she was still preoccupied in her mind, where Angry and Needy Hermiones resided. Fang barely managed to get a sniff at her before Hagrid came around the corner, huffing as he did so. He stopped short the moment he laid eyes on the scene, as if shocked. His beady eyes scanned the surroundings quickly. He looked down at where Hermione stood, shaking, with Fang, slobbering drool everywhere. Then he looked up at the imprint in the snow, where Draco had fallen moments ago, but was now kneeling beside.

Hagrid scowled. "Yeh lil' rascal," he thundered, "Wha'd ya think yer doin'…?"

Hermione's mind scrambled for an answer and her mouth opened and closed, trying to make a sound. She was blind to Draco who was silently motioning for her to keep quiet.

Hagrid continued, "Runnin' off like that. If there really had been bad folk out here…"

Hermione closed her mouth immediately. She blinked. That's not right. Hagrid was talking to Fang as if…_as if neither her nor Draco were there_. Hermione looked in Draco's direction, and was surprised to see that he was clutching his wand, still raised high. There seemed to be a blue shimmer around him. Faerie lights? No, too dark of a colour. Hermione looked down at herself out of impulse. There were faint shimmering blue lights around her too.

"Malfoy had cast a charm," Angry Hermione whispered, "Hagrid can't see you two." Needy Hermione giggled. "He did it to protect you!" She clapped excitedly. Angry Hermione rolled her eyes. "_No_," she scoffed, "He obviously did it to protect his own little ego. Imagine, being caught swapping spit with the Queen of Muggles herself!"

"Nonsense. Don't listen to her, Hermione," Needy Hermione hissed. Angry Hermione bushed away a curly lock and climbed into Hermione's ear. "What kind of magic do you think that is? The only way to become invisible is to be by an invisibility cloak, right? _Or_, like Professor Dumbledore, a wizard can spend _years_ to perfect the art of invisibility…but to make two people invisible by a wand…?" There was a small smile in Angry Hermione's voice as she continued, "He's using _dark magic_, isn't he?"

Hermione's hands shook. She started when she discovered that Hagrid and Fang had already gone. She looked over at Draco and saw that he had stood up. Instead of brushing the snow off his jumper, he quickly hurried to her side. "Are you alright?" He asked sounding deeply concerned. Hermione frowned. She hadn't heard him. Actually, she was trying to locate Needy Hermione. He couldn't have used dark magic, could he? Needy Hermione must have an excuse, _she must have_. It took Hermione a little while to figure out that Needy Hermione had abandoned her. There were no excuses, because Needy Hermione was beaten. She knew Angry Hermione had won this round.

"Hermione?" Her name sounded nice spoken by Draco. She looked up at him, looking straight into his eyes, searching for an answer. "What charm was that?" She heard herself ask coldly. Draco blushed and looked down at the snowy ground, stamping his feet.

"It was…you know…" he paused and shrugged, still not meeting her eye. Hermione's heart sank. She shook her head and looked away, feeling disconcerted.

"It's cold out here," she said suddenly. She took off one of her gloves and dragged a finger across the Slytherin boy's jumper, wet from the melting snow gathered from his fall. Draco nodded and smiled. Hermione noticed that his lips were a little blue and his teeth where chattering.

"That Ha-Hagrid," Draco stammered, "he said something about going up to the castle to talk to Dumbledore, so he wont be back for a while. We can warm up in his hut for the time being, okay?"

Hermione allowed herself to be led into Hagrid's cabin through the back door (Draco used the _Alohomora_). She watched Draco starting the fire with his wand. Just because he knows dark magic it's not enough of a motive to let him freeze to death, she reasoned with herself. She thought she felt Angry Hermione shake her head and mutter something about being in denial.

Hermione re-gathered herself and fetched Hagrid's kettle, taking note of an unopened barrel labeled "Firewhiskey" sitting at the bottom of the cabinet. She put the kettle on the fire to make some hot water. Then she sat on the corner of Hagrid's bed and stared into the dancing flames for a good ten minutes.

Draco sat himself in front of the fireplace and began to dry himself off. He constantly looked over at Hermione, as if waiting for something. He paced around the hut for a little, and then returned to his place by the fire. He tried to start a conversation _three_ times and failed miserably. He couldn't stand the silence anymore. It was time to face the music, no matter how much he hated the tune. "It was indeed a spell I read out of a…_questionable_ book," he began quietly, "But that doesn't classify it as dark magic."

"Is that book _of_ the dark arts?" Hermione asked flatly.

Draco paused. "Er…yes, I guess so."

"Then how is it _not_ classified as dark magic?" Hermione snapped loudly. Draco groaned and turned from the fire, clutching his head, feeling his frustration mounting. "I know that you've been taught that all who touch any type of magic beyond the ability of the common wizarding public is evil," his eyes begged her to understand, "and that all kinds of advanced magic is dark. But that's biased and wrong. It's a political tool, it's–"

"It's what _you_'d think," Hermione scowled, "You've been brainwashed by the Death Eaters."

Draco sighed. "Your House's prejudice against Slytherin, against me – who taught you that? They only tell you how many bad seeds had sprouted from Slytherin. They always fail to mention those who had chosen righteous paths. Isn't_ that_ brainwash?"

Hermione bit her lip. "But that invisibility charm–"

"What's considered a dark spell, Hermione?"

"The Unforgivables."

"Right," Draco smiled, ignoring the whistle of the kettle. "The Unforgivables, _because they hurt people_. Who did I hurt with my charm out there?"

Hermione shook her head slowly. "No one," she muttered. Draco nodded encouragingly. "When a type of magic is made to hurt, made to be immoral, made with ill intentions, and only when that occurs is the magic considered dark," he said quietly.

Hermione sat unmoving. She shook her head. "I don't agree," she said stubbornly. Draco's hand unconsciously rose to his chest, anticipating the pain that was sure to come. Hermione didn't seem to notice. She stood with a blank expression and went to take her kettle off the fire.

Draco watched her wrap a piece of wet cloth around the kettle's handle and gently ease it out and onto the table. Draco hung his head in disappointment and self-loathing. Why didn't he think before he used that charm out there? He panicked and muttered the first spell that came into his mind. It just happens that that particular spell wasn't one taught (or approved by) the Ministry.

He looked down at his feet and realized with a start that he was still wearing his wet boots. Draco untied them and stepped out of them, leaving them lying in the middle of the floor. He hated the discomfort between Hermione and himself. The tension was grating on his patience. He stood with his back to her, rolling up the sleeves of his still wet jumper.

Hermione was still cataleptic and oblivious of her surroundings as she stared out of Hagrid's tiny window at the dancing snowflakes outside. It looked like a blizzard was on the way.

But Hermione was only concerned of the little war going on in her head. She was mildly aware of a little problem: she had no cups to pour the water in. She frowned and turned, tripping on one of Draco's boots. She caught herself in time but the kettle flew out of her hand.

Draco heard a thump and turned by reflex. A kettle came crashing down, drenching him in boiling water. Draco gasped and fell back. The pain was like a layer of skin that doesn't go away no matter how much he screamed and struggled. He felt the burn at his throat, like thousands of scorpions' poisonous stings, jabbing at him.

Hermione was snapped out of her trance by Draco's terrified cry. She grabbed the wand Draco left on Hagrid's wooden table. She hurried over to him, shouting for him to stay still. She saw raw, molted skin down the side of his face and neck, extending inside his clothing. What was it that she leant in Muggle first aid? Clothing traps heat. She pointed the wand at the boy's chest and muttered, "_Diffindo_."

Draco's jumper and undershirt inside were cut to pieces to reveal his chest burns, already swelling. The boy was hysterical and would not stop moving, so Hermione performed the Full Body Bind. She washed Draco's wounded areas with a fountain of water sprouting from his wand and covered him in cold, wet cloths. She then retrieved a bucket of snow from outside and spread it over the cloths to melt.

To her dismay, Draco became unconscious. Hermione panicked. What was the healing spell? Oh dear Merlin, she had forgotten it. At this time, Miss Know-It-All forgot the healing spell. What nasty timing for her mind to go out on her. "Malfoy, _Malfoy_! Wake up!" She called in desperation. "I forgot the healing spell, _Malfoy_!" Hermione barely noticed the tears that began pouring down her face. "I'm _so_ sorry. Talk to me, Malfoy! Frown if you have trouble breathing…or better yet – _sneer_! _DO SOMETHING_!"

Draco's lips moved. Hermione put her ear to his mouth to hear him better. "_Episkey_…" he whispered in a rash voice. Hermione was drowned in relief. _Episkey_, that's the one. She heaved a deep breath, consoled, and pointed her wand to Draco's neck.

Fifteen minutes later, the two sat staring into the fire, Draco half naked and pale like the day he was born, holding a very shaken Hermione Granger in his arms. Tears were still running down her cheeks. Draco smiled, and patted her on the back. "Hey, hey. Stop crying, okay?" He cooed. She sniffed and shook her head. "I'm such an idiot…"

"No, you're not," he laughed quietly, chest shaking. "It was funny, actually."

"_Funny_?" Hermione snapped, looking up at him, "You almost died."

Draco smiled, "Not even close," he assured her. His eyes glazed over as he stared into the fire again. "It happened to me before…" he murmured. His voice sounded far away. Hermione looked up in surprise. "When did you…? Oh," Hermione started in realization. _Right_ – this boy, this stranger who had fallen for her – he's not Draco Malfoy.

The boy looked down at her with a wry smile, "I'm just glad it didn't happen again."

Hermione blushed. His eyes were still on her, she could feel them. She needed something to distract him with. "Firewhiskey!" Hermione shouted suddenly, making Draco jump. He shook his head, "I beg your pardon?" He stammered. Hermione smiled and skipped over to the cabinet. "Firewhiskey," she repeated, "I heard it…um, calms the mind and revitalizes, uh, energies?"

It was a downright lie, of course, and Draco knew it. Well, it certainly seemed that he wouldn't be getting any further with her tonight. He looked away and smiled. But that's okay, he thought, he'll still have tomorrow.

---

…Hermione tipped her head back and placed her lips on to his. He tensed, and then kissed her back. He ran his tongue along her lips and kissed her many times. Hermione's arms reached up and grasped him on the shoulder and behind the head. Their tongues were dancing now, enjoying a fiery kiss of their own. His arms supported her lower back as he lifted her up in to a kneeling position.

Their lips were hot and still slightly bruised from earlier. Draco bit her gently and she sucked at his lips in return. The snow outside was _really_ falling now. The blizzard had arrived.

Their lips parted and she gasped as his bare fingers found her skin. She moaned, sounding like she had the hiccups as she felt him harden beneath her. Her stockings were gone and her knee-length skirt was pushed up to her waist. She straddled him, running her hands over his face as his lips sent electricity flying through her wherever they touched.

Draco lowered her onto the ground and crouched over her as their lips met again. His knees were placed on either side of her, to restrain himself more than anything else. Hermione wouldn't have it. She pulled him down into her and laughed as he struggled to get up. At his moment's distraction, she pulled her legs out from underneath him and wrapped them around his waist. At this point, Draco lost it. He kissed her madly from her jaw line down to the swell of her chest where her blouse stopped him from going any further. Hermione giggled and slid down so they could see eye to eye. She kissed him lightly on the lips and Draco returned the favor.

He looked up from where he had just planted a kiss on her forehead and caught sight of a black emblem depicting a serpent and a skull on his left forearm – his death mark. _He had forgotten all about it_.

All sexual desires gone, Draco tensed and slipped his arm under her lower back in frail attempt to hide it. Hermione wiggled uncomfortably and sat up. She kissed him many times more before she noticed the expression on his face. He was looking over her shoulder.

Draco saw her head turn. He gulped. If he moved his arm now it would be too obvious and she would become suspicious, but if he didn't move it…the phrase "to hell and back" would become the understatement of all understatements.

Just at that moment, out of the corner of his eye, Draco caught a spark of fire that seemed a bit out of place. He quickly looked up and did a double take. One of Hermione's stockings has been set ablaze. And a half-empty barrel of Firewhiskey rolled into sight.

---

Hermione stumbled through the portrait hole and collapsed onto the ground. Ron was on her like the leech he was within seconds. "What happened, Hermione?"

"I'm right here, Ron, no need to yell," Hermione murmured. Ron swooped down and picked her up. "HARRY! HARRY! SOMETHING'S HAPPENED TO HERMIONE! HARRY–"

Hermione groaned and clutched her head. "Stop it Ron!" She wailed. Tears began to pour down her face. The next thing she knew, Ginny was whispering for her to calm down and asking what the matter was. Hermione shook her head and immediately regretted it. "Headache," she sobbed. Ginny pulled away. Hermione looked up to see a strange expression on her face.

"Do you feel nauseous too? And dizzy?" Ginny asked quietly. Hermione began to nod but stopped with a whimper. Ginny became silent. "I'm going to take her to her room," Hermione heard her tell Ron.

"But–"

"It's a girl thing, Harry. Sorry," Ginny shrugged and took Hermione by her shoulders to guide her up the stairs.

When she woke up that morning, Hermione was hit with a head-splitting pang that started from the back of her head. She rolled around the bed and eventually threw up over one side, after which she felt slightly better. And that was when she began to recall the events of the night before. All she remembered seemed to be a dream she'd had. And what an odd (and embarrassing) dream it was! In Hagrid's hut with Malfoy, doing…unspeakable things. She yawned, rubbed her head and rolled over. It was then that she realized that the bed she was in wasn't in _her_ bed, and that the half naked form of Draco Malfoy was sprawled on the floor.

She sat up with a blood-curdling scream.

The particulars were still blurry, and Hermione prayed that they'd stay that way. If there were one person in this world who would rather die than be told the details of Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger's night in Hagrid's hut, it would be her.

But having never drank before Hermione was entirely unprepared for the aftereffects that we non-prudes call a hangover. And so, she dragged herself back to the castle (her scream rocked Draco's head with a massive migraine, or else he would have ran after her), and somehow found her way back to Gryffindor Tower.

Ginny being the bright girl she was detected Hermione's unfortunate situation and immediately made plans to seek the truth one-on-one from the hungover Head Girl. She magicked some ice and sent an owl to Padma Patil to ask her sister to ask Lavender for the hangover-countering spell if there were such a thing. And if there were, Lavender would definitely know it. But aware of Lavender's run-in with Hermione a little while ago in Madame Puddifoot's, Ginny dodged Lavender's new-gossip radar by using the Patil sisters as the middlemen. I told you Ginny was a bright girl.

Padma got back to her with the spell – apparently there really was one – within the hour, and Hermione's pains were gone within the minute that Ginny received Padma's owl. Women are highly efficient when they want to be.

Anyways, Ginny got down to business the moment Hermione was able to open her eyes in relief of her pain. "Either you tell me what went on in the last twelve hours or I'll tell Ron you went out drinking all night in suspicious company," Ginny demanded.

Hermione stuttered something incomprehensive and shook her head, slightly amused (but mostly freaked out) by the accuracy of Ginny's careless assumption. Ginny raised one eyebrow. "You have ten seconds to make up your mind, Hermione," Ginny said, sounding much too cheerful to be threatening. "Ten, nine, eight…"

Hermione sighed. "What do you want to know?"

Ginny grinned like the Cheshire cat. "The usual. Just give me the five W's and I'll figure it out from there."

Hermione pursed her lips. She wouldn't reveal anything more anyways, because she knew that at least half of this information was going to make its way to Harry and at least a quarter would then make its way to Ron. She took a deep breath.

"Okay…uh…" Hermione frowned, trying to remember exactly what happened.

Ginny leant a little closer. "The five W's are: who, what, when, where, and why, Hermione."

"I know that," Hermione snapped. Ginny smirked. Hermione tried again. "Erm, who…there was…me?"

"Doesn't count. I _know_ you were involved, Hermione. Someone else."

"Hmm…let me see…"

"Okay, that's it. _RON_!"

"NO! No, no. No…Ginny, no…okay, fine. There was…Malfoy."

Ginny reaction was that of one traumatized.

"Second W…what…uh, Firewhiskey," Hermione continued quickly. "When…late last night. Where? In, beside, and around Hagrid's hut. And why…um…why…uh, blizzard?"

As her memory bank slowly leaked the events of the night before into her brain, Hermione realized three things: one, the blizzard was no reason to behave the way she did; two, she could have said Hagrid for who instead of Malfoy, and three, Hermione realized with a blush, she had been absolutely _reckless_ (that was her word, I would use _horny_) while Draco Malfoy played the part of a perfect gentleman. Of course she disregarded that entire _almost_ lovemaking episode.

Her ritualistic life was torn and ripped to piece, and she had realized that. All with the arrival of a certain handsome young man named Draco Malfoy. Hermione knew what she was going to do now. She watched as Ginny leapt up and pranced about her room squealing the possibilities she was coming up with (all were R rated materials, I assure you). Hermione knew that she had to end her falsely instigated relationship with Ron Weasley.

---

Albus Dumbledore entered his office after a rather delightful lunch to find Hagrid waiting for him, face red in rage. "Is something the matter, Hagrid?"

Hagrid was so angry that it took him two tries before he managed to recount his story. "I jus' went home jus' now with Fang, an' I found this…" he pulled his hand out from behind him to reveal a hanged-over and still half-naked Draco Malfoy. "An' I also found tha' me new barrel of Firewhiskey was half empty. _Half_-empty, Headmaster! _I demand a punishment_."

Dumbledore raised a handkerchief to his mouth to cover either an amused smile or a shocked gasp. He said nothing and looked over Hagrid's shoulder instead, for there stood a livid-looking Lucius Malfoy.

"Well," Dumbledore began gaily, "I do believe _this _was the reason your son missed the train home this morning, Lucius."

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**A/N:**

Sorry for the delay, but you know it only gets better from here.  
Hope everybody recovered from the Last Book Blues. You know the story lives on. Peace.

**Review and I'll make sure to update faster.**

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	12. XI

**COUNTERFEIT**

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**XI**

Draco Malfoy disappeared.

He never returned after the Christmas holidays. For this reason, various rumor mills brushed off their rust and began a mad attempt to keep up with the Hogwarts student body's outrageous demand for even the most far-fetched reasoning behind this sudden departure.

Pansy Parkinson proudly announced to the Slytherin table that she cried herself to sleep every night since his departure. Crabbe and Goyle wandered around like the fat, unsightly wings of a headless chicken (the head being Draco Malfoy). And Hermione . . . ? She was upset, to say the least. She bombarded Harry for any news regarding the Slytherin boy, she shirked her Head duties, and she poured maple syrup on her bacon this morning.

Hermione sighed, trying her hardest to ignore the incredulous looks Harry and Ron were shooting at each other. It was a hell of a week. Friday couldn't come soon enough. It was odd because she had never in her life at Hogwarts counted time according to the weekends; she always counted according to due dates, deadlines and lessons. This change turned her life upside down. She missed two bonus marks for her Transfiguration essay because she forgot to hand it in early. She got in trouble with Filch because she lost her watch and missed the curfew. Hermione spent days and nights wondering about the Malfoy. She reasoned that it was for the greater good, that she only wanted to keep an eye on him for Harry. She knew that wasn't the _real_ reason, but she wasn't going to admit it.

Sometimes she would lie in her bed and wonder about the things that had passed between them. That first night on the train, in the Forest, in Hagrid's hut . . . Hermione always shivered when she made a snatch at the loose strands of that memory. He didn't have a chance to explain to her what had really happened. She missed his sudden appearances that scared her shitless, his weird ideas, and his impossible childishness that always made her feel all funny inside.

It took three weeks for Hermione to come up with the idea to owl Draco. She had smacked herself in the forehead and scowled to herself as she climbed the stone stairs to where the school owls were kept. She didn't even consider using Harry or Ron's owls, which turned out to be a smart idea, if not dumb luck.

A week later, Theodore Nott stopped her on her way to Potions and pulled her into an empty classroom. He wordlessly pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his robes. Hermione recognized her own scrawl: _Where are you_? It was her note to Draco.

"Are you insane?" Nott demanded quietly. Hermione stared at him, startled and confused for a good two minutes before she slowly shook her head.

"Malfoy disappeared, Dumbledore tightened the school's security, and Aurors are patrolling the grounds – what do you think you're dealing with here?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide. Aurors? Really? Oh. She had no idea. That was very unlike her. Now that she thought about it, Harry had probably mentioned something about that . . .

Theodore Nott shook his head at her. "Malfoy can't talk to you," he said and winced, "actually, he can't talk at all right now – don't look at me like that, I cant tell you, I'm in enough trouble as is. Oh, and, you might want to make a good excuse for Dumbledore when he asks you where that school owl had gone–"

Hermione slapped him. The sound echoed around the room.

Then, silence.

"_What the hell was that_?" Nott yelled. Hermione raised one speculative eyebrow. "You may pass the message on to Mr. Malfoy," she said curtly. Theodore glared at her and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He stared at her in disbelief. Maybe she _was_ insane. He shook his head and chuckled. Malfoy must have something up his sleeve to handle this one. "My pleasure, Miss Granger," he said, wondering how Malfoy would like being slapped, and exited.

Hermione waited until the Slytherin's cloak had whipped out the door before she collapsed onto the nearest chair. "Who needs an owl?" she said to the empty room, surprised that she had never thought of this solution. "Who needs an owl when there's Theodore Nott?"

And so the week passed. On Thursday, Nott slipped a note into Hermione's notebook during Ancient Runes. The parchment was crumpled with a million folds running through it. It bore a loopy, messy writing that Hermione didn't recognize: _I didn't deserve that_.

Hermione laughed. In the middle of Ancient Runes, she laughed. Her classmates looked at her in surprise, in curiosity, in annoyance. Hermione smiled dazzlingly at them all. They didn't know. They will never know.

On Saturday, Hermione cornered Nott on the deserted Quidditch pitch and gave him a watery bear hug.

On Monday Nott found Hermione in the half-empty Great Hall sitting with Harry and Ron and gave her a hasty peck on her cheek with a note from Malfoy that assured her it had to be done in front of the "two most insufferable brats from all of the fiery lakes under the devil's lair of debauchery'.

On the same Monday Hermione awarded Nott a swift jab in the ribs that had him bruising like a peach.

Nott made Hermione scream bloody murder when he grabbed her from behind by strict instructions from Draco.

Hermione followed with a heel on Nott's foot.

With Theodore Nott as the go-between, it was almost like the Malfoy boy never left, only Nott did most of his bidding with half a heart, as Draco do tend to go overboard with his instructions, especially since he wasn't the one who'd feel Hermione's wrath in the aftermath.

And so this continued for the most of January and early February. By Valentine's Day, Nott was sporting over seven cuts, ten bruises, and three palm prints across his face. He counted. Hermione, however, was in high mood. The day before the first Hogsmeade weekend of February, Nott slipped Hermione a note.

_Meet me in front of the Shrieking Shack at noon_, wrote Malfoy.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. The Shrieking Shack . . . noon. Her heart skipped a beat. This was it.

She arrived at ten after, hurrying and slipping on the ice and snow, clutching her cloak close. It took forever to shake off Ron. He just wouldn't let her be. She couldn't blame him. She is still (technically) his girlfriend, and it _is_ Valentine's Day weekend at Hogsmeade. It's only natural that he'd want her to spend time with him. Hermione told him she was going to the bathroom, skipped into Three Broomsticks, and went out the back door. She said she would meet Ron in Honeydukes, so she would have to hurry.

Her boots had not grip. Hermione pursed her lips to keep herself from swearing and kept her eyes on the road. As she neared the Shack she saw a dark cloaked figure pacing back and forth in front of the gates of the dark, snow-covered house. Her heart almost stopped beating. Hermione stood rooted to the spot and stared. The figure seemed to have sensed her there. The hooded head turned. Hermione caught a sparkle of white hair.

She screamed and ran. Towards the figure, that is.

Draco Malfoy opened his arms to receive her, but got a nice little boot embedded in his abdomen instead. He fell with a silent groan, his breath knocked out of him. Hermione lost her balance, slipped on the icy ground, and landed on him.

That was one awesome flying kick.

"Where in _hell_ have you _been_?" Hermione screeched, "The entire school's talking about you, and Nott . . . don't tell me you're a Death Eater, Malfoy, after that night . . . don't you dare tell me you're a Death Eater," Hermione breathed, grasping Draco's left arm, pulling up his sleeve.

Draco recovered enough to pull his arm back. "No, no . . . Hermione! No!_I swear_, woman, if you don't stop–" He pried Hermione's gloved, clumsy fingers off his wrist and grabbed the back of her neck. He crushed her lips with his.

So he didn't imagine her taste. Draco had thought he distorted her loveliness with the passing of time without her. He didn't. He thought she would never come. Why would she? Most of the "messages" Nott delivered from Hermione were either violent or rude. When he first heard of her attempted correspondence he almost wept in joy.

Today was the first day he was allowed out, and he risked it to be in Hogsmeade. He was half an hour early. You can't blame him, the poor boy. When his watch finally stuck noon he began to pace. He paced for a total of five minutes (though it felt much longer) before desolation, hurt, panic, and abandonment began to eat at him. His heart rated picked up and he paced faster, until he was almost running. The moment he saw her standing there, face pale from the sight of him, cheeks pink from the bitter cold, he fell in love with her all over again.

Was it normal to fall for the same woman twice? Was it even possible? It was, apparently, in Draco's case, but he's insane. He's known that for a while. Hermione's soft lips parted underneath his and Draco took advantage of it. He nibbled her lower lip and slid his tongue in to meet hers. Draco groaned.

They stayed like this for a while, limbs entangled, lying in the snow, playing a game of battling of the tongues. Draco swore that the heat generated from their kiss melted the snow around them into puddles. Surprisingly, it was Draco who first broke away, breathing hard. But Hermione wasn't finished with him. She showered him in sweet quick kisses along his jaw and on his lips. Draco returned them. "Come," Draco breathed in between kisses, "come with me," he kissed her on her forehead, "we'll," another kiss was planted on her nose, "go to," another on her cheek, "Madame," one on each eyelid, "Puddifoot's."

"Can't," Hermione said quickly. "Harry's in there with Ginny."

Draco looked at her, surprised. "Shit," he muttered, "forgotten all about them." His naked hand protested in pain as he pressed it to the icy ground in ease himself up. Hermione pushed him down again. "No, stay," she demanded, loud, and slightly angry all of a sudden. "You listen to me, Draco Malfoy. You will tell me the truth–"

"Nothing but the truth," Draco agreed.

"–The whole truth," Hermione demanded. Draco nodded, wary. Hermione fumbled around as she pulled off her glove. She dragged Malfoy into a sitting position and placed her bare fingers to the pulse on his neck. "Are you a Death Eater?" She asked quietly. His pulse quickened. Draco could feel it. And he could see it being reflected in Hermione's anguished expression. He didn't want to disappoint her. He didn't want to see her hurt, pained, or betrayed. But there was nothing he could do.

"From the bottom of my heart, love, I had no idea you were going to be a part of my life," Draco began. Hermione gasped quietly. Her breathing became ragged. "Please," Draco begged, "listen to me, Hermione – I had no choice,_ I didn't_, I know what you're thinking, but I didn't, I really _didn't_ have a choice. Yes I do have a mark, yes I did accept it willingly, but a mark does not make someone a Death Eater, Hermione. Only he who bears the mark can decide whether he is or isn't a Death Eater–"

"Bullshit," Hermione spat.

Draco swallowed hard. "Please . . . "

"Prove it," she demanded, "prove it to me.

Under Hermione's steely glare, Draco lowered his gaze said whispered, "I have information."

"Regarding . . .?"

"A plot for Dumbledore's life."

Hermione gasped.

Draco grimaced. "I can't tell Dumbledore myself because he doesn't trust me. I've . . . done some thing that, uh, lost his favor."

"Hmm." Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Some things . . .? Such as?"

"Well for one thing, he knew about this," Draco said, reluctantly unlacing his left sleeve. Hermione pulled it up to his elbow. The Dark Mark grinned up at her. Hermione bit her lip. Anger bubbled throughout her body. Her piercing glower rose to smother Draco Malfoy. To her surprise, he flinched. His shoulders were hunched and his gaze locked pleadingly with hers. Hermione never would have guessed that such superior-looking and cold-colored eyes could hold so much fear and regret. Her anger was, for a second, nowhere to be found.

"What else?" she asked quietly. Draco gulped. "I broke into his office a couple times–"

"You_what_?"

"–And Snape told him about how I led werewolves into Hogwarts, you remember, in the Forbidden Forest–"

Crack! Hermione's palm made a nice, stinging red imprint on Draco's pale skin. His head was knocked sideways and he almost lost his balance (a hard thing to do since they were sitting). Draco slowly turned back to Hermione, head lowered so he wouldn't see her face. Hermione sat seething in disbelief. What other misdemeanor had he done right under her nose without her knowledge? Her mother was right all along: men are the sons of deception. She didn't know he had something to do with the werewolves. She could have died, torn into bloody shred, or worse, made into one herself, and it would all be his fault.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered. "I'm sorry. If I hurt you, it wasn't my intention. I know this might sound a bit far-fetched right now, but I'd be glad if . . . I'd be . . . I'd . . . _please_ forgive me."

Hermione slapped him again, even harder. She put her whole arm into it. She had swung back and whipped him across the face. For a minute, she could only see stars.

Draco let himself fall back into the snow this time. The pain was blinding. Tears brimmed his eyes, and the only thing Draco could think of was: who knew she could pack so much power into one measly slap?

Hermione leant close. She didn't deserve this betrayal, she didn't deserve this torment. Her warm breath lingered soft and sweet on Draco's skin.

"Prove yourself to me," she whispered, breaking away, "and I'll deliver your warning to Dumbledore."

"What do you want?" Draco asked weakly.

Hermione blinked and licked her lips slowly, thinking. The one thing she wanted to know, the one thing she wanted to have. "Tell me," she said, "tell me _everything_ about yourself, everything I want to know."

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A/N: 

I know it's been - what? - four months since I last updated? Five months even? This chapter only took me one day to write. Not even. I started around ten this morning and I was done by one.

I'm very, very sorry for the delay but I have been writing on fictionpress and it's hard to switch back to fanfiction mode once you get into fictionpress. But I promise more romance, more updates and a better plot. Thank you for waiting, I appreciate you response (I won't report you if you want to say something...ahem...about the delay.

Again, I'm sorry and I promise it won't happen in the future.

Please let me know what you think of this chapter (or, if you have the time, see if you can find any mistakes or typos and tell me) - PLEASE REVIEW!!

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